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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

DR.  AND  MRS.  ELMER  BELT 


DONATION   BY 


DR.  AND  MRS.  ELMER    BELT 


% 


These 
Splendid  Women 


These 


Splendid  Women 


with 


INTRODUCTION    AND    NOTES 


"With  the  wind  of  Qod  in  her 
vesture,  proclaiming  the  deathless, 
ever-soaring  spirit  o/  man."— Locke 


J,  H.  SEARS   &  COMPANY,  Inc, 

PUBLISHERS 
NEW     YORK 


Copyright,  1926,  by 
J.  H.  SEARS  &  CO.,  Incorporated 


Set  up,  Printed  and  Bound  at  the 
KINGSPORT      PRESS 
KiNGSPORT       Tennessee 
United  States  of  America 


9  WW^iCC-^ 

B 
CONTENTS  ^^ 

PAGE 
Q 

Introduction 

19 
Cleopatra    

By  Henry  Houssaye 

Zenobia 

By  Edward  Gibbon 

Joan  of  Arc 

By  Thomas  DeQiiincy 

VlTTORIA    COLONNA  ^" 

By  Thomas  Adolphiis  Trollope 

Catherine  de'  Medici ^^^ 

By  Imbert  de  Saint- Amand 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots ^^^ 

A  Portrait  Study •'■^^ 

By  Andrew  Lang 

The  Execution ^^^ 

By  Alphonse  de  Lamartine 

A  Defense  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 167 

By  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne 

Maria  Theresa ^^ 

By  Anna  Jameson 


8  Contents 

PAGE 

Madame  de  Pompadour 209 

By  Edmund  de  Goncourt 

Charlotte  Corday 255 

By  Thomas  Carlyle 

Catherine   the   Great ,    .    .    ,    ,  264 

By  K.  Walizewski 

--^  Florence  Nightingale 290 

y^'  By  Elisabeth  Aldridge 

Notes c 313 


i 

Introduction 

to 

These  Splendid  Women 

HE  ladies  are  dangerous  creatures  for  a  man,  to 
say  nothing  of  an  editor,  to  tamper  with,  unless 
it  be  from  a  distance.  They  have  at  various 
periods  been  likened  to  angels,  tigresses,  cats, 
dynamite,  fairies  and  furies.  They  are  like  the  weather  in 
Eastern  Massachusetts.  The  self-contained  Bostonian  starts 
out  in  the  morning  with  the  sun  smiling  in  entrancing  beauty. 
He  says  to  himself:  "This  is  a  stimulating  and  a  fascinat- 
ing day.  I  could  be  happy  with  it  forever."  As  he  turns 
the  corner  of  the  street  with  a  smile  on  his  face  and  a  little 
purring  glow  in  his  heart,  it  begins  to  snow.  He  turns  back 
in  haste  and  hurries  home  for  an  overcoat  and  an  umbrella. 
Coming  forth  a  second  time  with  grim  determination  to  stand 
anything  and  see  the  thing  through,  he  finds  the  air  tropical 
and  the  sun  mysteriously  blinking  through  a  mist.  Off  comes 
the  coat  and  down  comes  the  umbrella.  Turning  the  corner 
again  with  perspiring  brow  and  a  clammy  feeling  dov/n  his 
spine,  he  discovers  the  sun  breaking  through,  and  hope 
springs  towards  a  newer  and  a  lovelier  day.  Just  before 
reaching  the  office  a  terrific  downpour  of  rain  saturates  his 
clothes  before  he  can  again  put  on  his  overcoat  or  put  up 
his  umbrella.    There  is  nothing  to  do  but  push  on. 

At  luncheon  the  air  is  clear  and  invigorating.    The  sun  is 
bright  and  strong.     It  is  the  day  of  days.     It  is  the  kind  of 


10  Introduction 

weather  that  makes  a  man  do  great  things.  After  an  hour 
of  luncheon,  the  return  to  the  office  is  finally  achieved  through 
a  fog  so  impenetrable  that  he  runs  into  other  men  who  curse 
him  and  thrust  him  into  the  street.  And  on  the  way  home 
in  the  evening,  tired  with  the  commercial  and  climatic 
struggle  of  the  day,  he  finally  makes  the  haven  of  his  domicile 
completely  exliausted,  alternately  burning  with  fever  and 
frozen  with  chills. 

Finally,  all  through  the  night,  dreams  and  visions  chase 
one  another  through  his  fevered  brain  until,  being  unable  to 
sleep,  he  rises  and  pulls  aside  the  curtains  to  find  all  nature 
smiling  in  entrancing  beauty  out   of   the  pink-faced  dawn. 

If  you  criticize  his  v/eather,  the  Bostonian  will  agree  that 
it  may  be  a  trying  climate,  but  he  will  ask  you  to  bear  in 
mind  what  New  England  has  done  for  the  country  and  the 
world  in  general.  It  is  in  his  judgment  the  infinite  variety 
of  the  weather  which  custom  cannot  stale  that  has  achieved 
all  these  benefits  for  the  world — that  keeps  the  Yankee  con- 
stantly on  what  is  known  as  the  jump. 

Perhaps  we  are  happier  if  we  are  always  alert.  At  all 
events,  so  far  as  the  records  go  in  Massachusetts,  this  in- 
finite variety  has  existed  in  the  case  of  the  weather  from  the 
beginning;  and  so  far  as  the  records  go  throughout  history, 
the  same  infinite  variety  has  existed  for  the  same  period 
in  the  case  of  woman. 

In  this  modern  day  of  ours,  when  woman's  idea  of  the 
family  appears  in  danger  of  being  submerged  in  the  idea 
of  stenography,  or  secretaryship,  or  clerkship;  when  moving 
picture  shows  are  pushing  out  the  sewing  of  the  family 
socks;  when  a  career  is  more  important  than  a  child,  some  of 
us  look  with  dread  at  the  future  and  wonder  what  will  be- 
come of  mankind  a  hundred  years  hence  when  we  are  not 
here  to  be  troubled  by  it. 


Introduction  1 1 

Perhaps  the  whole  makeup  of  woman  will  be  as  different 
as  her  costume  now  is  from  that  of  fifty  years  ago.  Perhaps 
she  will  no  longer  be  a  tigress  or  a  fairy,  a  fury  or  an  angel, 
all  in  one;  but  only  a  calm  person  going  to  her  occupations 
with  supreme  regularity  like  the  rest  of  us.  The  changes 
that  have  taken  place  in  her  point  of  view  within  the  life- 
time of  an  ancient  moralizer  like  the  perpetrator  of  this 
preface  are  appalling  in  their  significance.  If  in  these  few 
years  such  developments,  what  in  the  next  hundred?  It  is 
distressing  to  think  on. 

Reading  some  of  the  memoirs  written  a  hundred  years  ago, 
it  appears  that  the  changes  in  the  new  generation  of  that  day 
appalled  the  ancient  moralizer.  He  or  she  asked:  "If  this 
goes  on,  what  will  the  world  be  a  hundred  years  hence?" 
— that  is  to  say,  today.  It  would  be  safe  to  say  that  if  these 
moralizers  could  revisit  the  scenes  of  their  activities  now, 
they  would  be  horrified  at  woman.    Think  of  the  legs  alone ! 

And  yet  the  world  seems  to  wag  along  much  as  heretofore. 

If  the  view  be  extended  over  a  greater  period,  there  is 
something  amusing  in  finding  the  differences  and  likenesses 
between  this  hour  and  one,  two,  three  hundred — even  one, 
two,  three  thousand — ^years  ago.  The  result  of  such  exami- 
nations, so  far  as  any  accuracy  can  be  maintained,  seems  to 
show  that  while  everything  external  has  altered  materially, 
the  inner  woman  remains  substantially  the  same. 

Cleopatra,  living  just  before  the  beginning  of  the  Chris- 
tian era,  that  is  to  say  about  two  thousand  years  ago,  was 
born  the  queen  of  one  of  the  great  kingdoms  of  that  day 
at  a  time  when  that  kingdom  itself  was  at  its  height  in  the 
sense  that  it  was  at  its  richest  and  best  organized  point.  She 
ruled  with  absolute  sway  over  the  destinies  of  her  people, 
and  so  far  as  history  goes  she  carried  out  her  great  re- 
sponsibilities with  more  wisdom  and  judgment  than  most  of 


12  Introduction 

the  potentates,  male  or  female,  of  her  time.  She  did  not 
create  a  nation,  but  she  did  administer  one.  At  the  same 
time  she  would  never  have  been  marked  in  the  history  of  the 
world  as  unique,  if  she  had  not  had  and  exercised  the  fem- 
inine qualities  common  to  all  women,  but  enhanced  a  thousand- 
fold in  her  case. 

If  the  immense  amount  of  description  of  her  goings  and 
comings  be  discounted,  she  still  remains  the  woman  who  by 
her  femininity,  her  personality,  fascinated  two  of  the  great 
men  of  history,  one  practically  to  his  ruin,  and  both  to  the 
distinct  advantage  of  her  country  politically.  She  was  a 
genius  in  bringing  about  the  results  she  desired  through  the 
means  and  weapons  that  were  at  her  disposal.  But  so  far 
as  any  one  can  discover  at  this  late  date,  she  used  no  other 
weapons  to  achieve  her  victories  than  half  a  dozen  young 
women  have  used  in  the  last  few  years  who  have  become 
notorious  the  world  over ;  unless  perhaps  Cleopatra  had  more 
brains.  Had  these  easily  identified  young  ladies  been  born 
queens  of  great  empires  running  on  reasonably  well  greased 
wheels  when  they  arrived  at  their  thrones,  they  might  have 
done  as  well  as  Cleopatra  and,  instead  of  being  notorious, 
they  might  have  been  as  famous  as  she.  Which  would  seem 
to  suggest  how  little  is  the  difference  between  the  woman  of 
today  and  of  two  thousand  years  ago,  except  in  custom  and 
costume. 

If  Cleopatra  had  been  a  man,  she  would  doubtless  have 
written  her  memoirs  and  we  should  have  much  more  to  go 
by.  But  women  up  to  a  few  years  ago  have,  for  some 
reason,  refrained  from  telling  us  how  they  struggled  and 
thought  and  won  this  or  that  victory.  It  is  a  pity — ^this 
historic  modesty  on  the  part  of  the  female.  She  could  have 
told  us  so  much  of  interest  in  the  past  2,000  years.  Cleo- 
patra's   memoirs    would    have    fascinated    mankind.      They 


Introduction  13 

would  be  a  best  seller  even  to-day.  You  can  see  them  in 
imagination — ^the  first  chapter  filled  with  charming  little 
stories  of  how  she  twisted  her  father  around  her  finger, 
or  fascinated  the  family  dog  by  just  looking  at  him — ^little 
hints  of  the  origins  from  which  sprang  the  discovery  in 
her  restless  bosom  of  the  best  way  in  which  Antony  or 
Caesar  could  be  induced  on  a  later  day  to  relinquish  some 
of  the  demands  of  Rome.  Later  chapters  would  have  de- 
veloped confessions  of  the  joy  of  life,  hints  of  experiments 
upon  good-looking  Egyptians  attached  to  the  Court,  the  way 
in  which  a  smile  upon  a  doubting  councilor  won  him  over, 
or  perhaps  a  gentle  pressure  upon  the  arm  and  a  glance 
upward  caused  the  chains  of  defeat  to  drop  from  her  people 
and  bind  themselves  permanently  about  the  person  of  a 
proud  victor. 

What  a  story  would  have  been  here  for  us  to  read — ^the 
inner  workings  of  a  woman's  mind ! 

There  have  been  scoffers,  such  as  Schopenhauer,  who 
have  maintained  that  women  had  no  minds.  If  only  these 
memoirs  of  Cleopatra,  and  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots  had  come  down  to  us  as  complete  and 
full  of  confidential  detail  as  they  would  have  come  if  such 
women  had  been  men,  then  we  should  have  known  defi- 
nitely. We  can  guess  now  what  a  lot  of  re-writing  of  our 
histories  would  become  necessary.  Should  we  see  the  great 
human  currents  of  the  ages  shifted  by  a  lovely  girl's  whim, 
or  a  bit  of  jealousy,  or  sudden  love?  Should  we  find  that 
the  Battle  of  Waterloo  was  won  and  lost  because  of  a 
woman's  wish? 

There  have  been  rumors  here  and  there  in  man-made 
tomes  that  a  female  impetus,  if  it  may  be  so  styled,  has 
upset  great  councils  as  well  as  great  councilors  time  out  of 
mind.     Here  and  there  in  our  novels  we  are  given  a  hint, 


14  Introduction 

though  a  clumsy  male  one,  that  some  of  the  great  move- 
ments of  mankind  are  but  the  outcome  of  a  lady's  smile  or 
frown.  But  there  is  nothing  authentic.  For  myself,  though 
I  cannot  prove  it,  I  am  convinced  that  if  there  had  been  no 
women  there  would  have  been  no  history,  and  from  this 
conviction  comes  the  inevitable  conclusion  that  it  is,  there- 
fore, the  women  who  have  really  made  history. 

It  is  inconceivable  that  King  Arthur's  Round  Table 
could  have  maintained  itself  without  a  woman.  And  who 
started  the  Trojan  War? 

It  is  a  pity — this  historic  modesty  on  the  part  of  the 
female.  Fortunately,  in  our  later  and  better  day,  women 
are  at  last  taking  their  place  in  the  world  as  well  as  in  the 
home,  and  as  they  fill  the  places  of  men  it  seems  fair  to 
assume  that  they  will  be  filled  with  the  qualities  of  men, 
amongst  which  is  the  inevitable  urge  to  write  memoirs, 
to  tell  "how  I  did  it,"  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  come 
after.  Hence,  from  now  on,  we  may  hope  to  learn  defi- 
nitely not  only  whether  woman  has  a  mind,  but  how  it 
works  in  its  infinite  and  various  v/ays. 

But  even  without  any  authentic,  first-hand  information 
to  work  on,  there  is  enough  to  be  gathered  from  inference 
out  of  a  collection  of  sketches  gathered  in  such  a  volume 
as  the  present  one,  to  prove  that  splendid  Vv^omen  have 
lived  and  accomplished  much  by  their  own  methods,  though 
there  is  nothing  to  prove  that  they  have  changed,  any  more 
than  man,  in  either  method  or  power,  since  the  first  one 
upset  her  spouse  in  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

Cleopatra  is  an  interesting  example  taken  from  ancient 
times. 

At  a  later  day,  Catherine  II.  of  Russia  is  still  more  in- 
teresting. She,  unlike  Cleopatra,  did  create  a  nation.  She 
made    laws,    created    precedents,    began    things,    inaugurated 


Introduction  15 

customs,  did  the  thousands  of  things  the  contemporary  coun- 
terparts of  which  were  in  existence  when  Cleopatra  began  her 
reign.  And  yet  Catherine  rouged  and  painted  her  face  just  as 
little  Nellie  does  on  Sixth  Avenue  today  and,  unlike  Nellie, 
Catherine  denied  it  all  her  life.  She  gave  the  most  careful 
attention  to  her  dress  and  attitude  and  to  the  costumes  and 
behavior  of  those  about  her.  She  herself  in  her  letters  con- 
fesses that  she  changed  her  mind  constantly  without  rhyme 
or  reason.  She  frankly  indulged  in  the  wiles  so  identified 
with  Cleopatra,  but  she  never  let  these  idle  hours  interfere 
with  the  upbuilding  of  Russia.  She  cut  off  people's  heads 
and  allowed  her  friends  to  slap  her  on  the  back  with  typical, 
modern  feminine  waywardness,  and  withal  she  was  a  creator, 
a  builder  and  a  governor  greater  than  any  male  ruler  of  her 
day,  greater  than  most  rulers  of  any  day. 

In  this  or  any  similar  exhaustive  analysis  of  the  female 
mind  and  heart  it  would  be  unjust  to  omit  to  mention  that 
all  women  of  today  are  not  exactly  alike.  While  each  doubt- 
less has  infinite  variety  within  herself,  there  appears  to  be 
an  almost  infinite  variety  in  the  species,  or  gender,  or  sex. 
It  is  true  that  our  journals  from  time  to  time  devote  in- 
numerable columns  to  the  amorous  but  amateurish  poetry,  as 
well  as  the  amorous  but  quite  professional  methods  of  ladies 
who  have  so  upset  gentlemen  of  large  means  that  they  hie 
them  to  the  courts  for  protection.  But  it  is  just  as  true  that 
in  this  same  land  great  souls  like  a  Jane  Addams  or  a  Clara 
Barton  carry  on  their  work  to  the  infinite  benefit  of  mankind, 
if  with  less  newspaper  notoriety. 

In  this  particular,  too,  the  past  seems  to  have  been  much 
the  same  as  today.  While  many  fair  damsels  in  the  courts 
of  Europe  were  using  their  peculiar  and  age-old  methods  to 
influence  the  course  of  empire,  a  little  peasant  maid  carried 
on  her   daily   occupations   in   the   village   of   Domremy   and 


16  Introduction 

dreamed  of  a  French  nation,  sovereign  and  independent. 
She  did  not  secure  the  space  in  the  newspapers,  or  their 
counterparts  of  that  day,  that  her  sisters  did;  but  she  had 
a  vision,  a  tenacity  of  purpose,  a  power  of  concentration,  and 
a  courage  that  have  made  the  name  of  Joan  of  Arc  a  light 
shining  in  a  dingy  world  down  through  the  centuries.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  she  fought  battles  and  wore  armor 
and  led  men  on  horseback,  there  appears  to  be  no  hint  in  all 
that  has  been  written  of  her  that  she  was  anything  but 
feminine. 

So,  too,  in  England  less  than  a  hundred  years  ago  lived 
and  worked  Florence  Nightingale,  daughter  of  a  rich  man — 
a  society  girl,  who  had  her  vision  of  what  should  be  done  to 
help  the  sick.  In  her  quiet  life  she  not  only  invented  the 
modern  trained  nurse,  but  she  set  in  motion  an  idea,  a  stand- 
ard, that  makes  it  impossible  for  posterity  to  drop  back  in  the 
smallest  degree  into  the  old  ways.  She  not  only  changed 
the  views  of  humanity  in  regard  to  nursing ;  she  set  a  pace  that 
never  again  can  slacken.  Yet  so  far  as  all  the  records,  books 
and  panegyrics  of  herself  and  her  work  go  there  is  no  hint 
that  she  was  anything  but  the  most  feminine  of  women. 

So  with  others  in  different  eras  and  different  lands. 

It  has  seemed,  therefore,  in  this  day  when  we  ask  if  woman- 
hood is  degenerating,  that  a  little  collection,  not  of  biog- 
raphies, but  of  pictures  by  master  hands,  of  women  in  dif- 
ferent periods  would  make  an  amusing,  if  not  instructive, 
contradiction  or  corroboration  of  our  fears  for  the  future. 
It  would  be  presumptuous  to  forecast  the  opinions  of  readers, 
but  it  may  be  permitted  an  editor  to  summarize  his  weak, 
masculine  views,  gathered  from  a  reading  of  what  follows 
in  this  volume. 

Here  it  is :  The  characteristics  of  woman  have  not  changed 
in  the  last  ten  thousand  years.    They  will  not  change  in  the 


Introduction  17 

next  ten  thousand  years.  The  differences  in  the  whole 
twenty  thousand  years  between  woman  and  woman  are  the 
same  differences  as  those  between  man  and  man.  Some 
are  great;  some  are  small;  most  are  in  between.  Some  are 
born  leaders;  some  are  weak  sisters;  many  are  just  nice 
human  beings.  The  appeal  of  sex  will  continue  as  it  has 
begun — and  that  is  as  it  should  be.  If  it  were  not  for  that 
and  the  spiritual  in  all  of  us,  men  and  women  alike,  there 
would  be  no  civilization  and  no  happiness. 

When  a  young  man  comes  to  love  a  maid,  in  this  century 
or  forty  centuries  ago,  something  awakens  in  his  soul  that 
makes  him  long  to  do  not  only  that  which  shall  please  her, 
but  that  which  shall  be  worthy  of  her ;  and  nothing  is  worthy 
of  her  but  the  best,  whether  that  best  be  in  honor,  or  courage, 
or  industry,  or  ambition,  or  only  treasure.  And  whether  she 
darns  socks  or  punches  typewriters,  cooks  dinner  or  makes 
speeches,  wears  skirts  long  or  short,  that  something  awakened 
in  the  man's  soul  has  come  pretty  near  making  the  world  in 
the  past,  and  will  continue  to  advance  it  in  the  future.  There 
is,  after  all,  little  else  of  value  within  us. 

If  I  should  approach  the  question  of  the  ladies  nearer  than 
this,  the  danger  zone  would  be  entered  which  is  strewn  with 
the  literary  corpses  of  thousands  of  enthusiastic  but  silly 
fools  who  have  rushed  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 

Hamblen  Sears 


(Cleopatra 

By  HENRY  HOUSSAYE 


AFTER  an  existence  of  forty  or  fifty  centuries, 
the  empire  of  Egypt  was  expiring  under  the 
"evil  eye"  of  the  Romans.  The  Greek  dynasty, 
which  had  given  to  the  country  a  new  strength  and  re- 
viving brilHancy,  had  exhausted  itself  in  debauchery, 
crimes,  and  civil  wars.  It  was  now  sustained  only  by 
the  good-will  of  Rome,  whose  fatal  protection  was  bought 
at  a  high  price,  and  who  still  designed  to  tolerate,  for 
a  time,  at  least,  the  independence  of  Egypt.  Freed  from 
nearly  all  military  service  by  the  introduction  of  Hellenic 
and  Gallic  mercenaries  the  Egyptians  had  lost  their  war- 
like habits.  They  had  suffered  so  many  invasions  and 
submitted  to  so  many  foreign  dominations  that  all  that 
remained  for  patriotism  was  the  religion  of  their  an- 
cestors. Little  mattered  it  to  them,  born  servile  and  used 
to  despotism,  whether  they  were  governed  by  a  Greek 
king  or  a  Roman  proconsul — they  would  give  not  an  ear 
of  corn  less,  nor  receive  a  blow  the  more. 

Her  glory  eclipsed  and  her  power  decayed,  Egypt  still 
possessed  her  marvelous  wealth.  Agriculture,  manufac- 
tures, and  commerce  poured  into  Alexandria  a  triple  wave 
of  gold.  Egypt  had  erewhile  supplied  Greece  and  Asia 
Minor  with  corn;  it  remained  the  inexhaustible  granary 
of  the  Mediterranean  basin.  But  the  fertile  valley  of  the 
Nile — "so  fertile,"  says  Herodotus,  "that  there  was  no 
need  of  the  plough,"  produced  not  corn  only.     Barley, 


20  These  Splendid  Women 

maize,  flax,  cotton,  indigo,  the  papyrus,  henna,  with  which 
the  women  tinted  their  finger  nails,  clover  sufficient  for 
countless  herds  of  cattle  and  sheep,  onions  and  radishes, 
supplied  to  the  laborers  employed  in  building  the  great 
pyramid  of  Cheops  to  the  amount  of  eight  millions  of 
drachms,  grapes,  dates,  figs,  and  that  delicious  fruit  of  the 
lotus,  which,  according  to  Homer,  "made  one  forget  his 
native  land,"  were  other  sources  of  wealth.  Native 
industry  produced  paper,  furniture  of  wood,  ivory,  and 
metal;  weapons,  carpets,  mats,  fabrics  of  linen,  wool,  and 
silk ;  cloths,  embroidered  and  painted ;  glazed  pottery, 
glass-ware,  vases  of  bronze  and  alabaster,  enamels,  jewels 
of  gold  and  settings  of  gems.  Finally  commerce,  which 
had  its  factories  beyond  the  Aromatic  Cape,  which  sent 
its  caravans  across  Arabia  and  the  Lybian  Desert,  and 
whose  countless  ships  ploughed  the  seas  from  the  Pillars 
of  Hercules  to  the  mouth  of  the  Indus,  had  made  Alex- 
andria the  emporium  of  the  three  continents.  Under 
Ptolemy  XL,  the  father  of  Cleopatra,  the  taxes,  tithes, 
import  and  export  duties  cast  annually  into  the  royal 
treasury  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  talents — sixty-eight 
millions   of    francs. 

Ptolemy  XI.  (Auletes)  died  in  July,  51  B.C.  He  left 
four  children.  By  his  will  he  appointed  to  succeed  him 
on  the  throne  his  eldest  daughter  Cleopatra,  and  his 
eldest  son  Ptolemy,  and  according  to  the  custom  of  Egypt 
the  brother  was  to  marry  the  sister.  At  her  father's 
death  Cleopatra  was  sixteen  and  Ptolemy  thirteen  years 
old.  The  tutor  of  young  Ptolemy,  the  eunuch  Pothinus, 
was  an  ambitious  man,  and,  being  complete  master  of 
the  mind  of  his  pupil,  he  calculated  to  rule  Egypt  under 
the  new  reign;  but  he  soon  found  that  Cleopatra  would 
permit  neither  him  nor  Ptolemy  to  govern  the  kingdom. 
Proud  and  headstrong,  Cleopatra  was  likewise  skillful, 
intelligent,  and  very  learned;  she  spoke  eight  or  ten  lan- 
guages, among  them  Egyptian,  Greek,  Latin,  Hebrew, 
Arabic,  and  Syriac.     How  is  it  possible  to  think  that  this 


These  Splendid  Women  21 

woman,  so  haughty  and  so  gifted,  would  abandon  her 
share  of  the  sovereignty  in  favor  of  a  child  governed  by 
a  eunuch? 

Csesar  soon  learned  the  contentions  of  Ptolemy  and 
Cleopatra,  the  flight  of  the  latter  in  consequence  of  the 
threats  of  the  populace,  and  the  battle  about  to  take 
place  between  the  two  armies  assembled  at  Pelusium. 
It  had  always  been  the  Roman  policy  to  intermeddle  in 
the  private  dissensions  of  nations.  This  policy  of  inter- 
vention was  still  more  in  order  for  Caesar  with  regard 
to  Egypt,  because  during  his  first  consulate  Ptolemy 
Auletes  had  been  declared  the  ally  of  Rome,  and  in  his 
will  had  conjured  the  Roman  people  to  have  his  last 
wishes  executed.  Another  motive,  which  he  does  not 
mention  in  his  "Commentaries,"  induced  Caesar  to  inter- 
meddle in  the  affairs  of  Egypt.  With  little  expense  he 
had  made  himself  the  creditor  of  the  late  king,  and  he 
had  to  call  upon  the  heirs  for  a  large  amount.  This  was 
no  less  than  seven  millions  fifty  thousand  sesterces  which 
remained  due  of  the  thirty-three  thousand  talents  which 
Ptolemy  had  promised  to  pay  Csesar  and  Pompey  if  by 
the  assistance  of  the  Romans  he  should  recover  his  crown. 

The  queen  was  waiting  impatiently  for  news  from 
Caesar.  On  the  receipt  of  his  first  message,  but  partially 
transmitted  by  Pothinus,  she  had  hastened  to  disband  her 
army.  She  already  felt  full  confidence  in  the  favor  of 
the  great  leader  who  was  called  "the  husband  of  all 
women,''  but  she  knew  that  she  must  see  Caesar,  or  rather 
that  Csesar  must  see  her.  But  the  days  passed  and  the 
invitation  to  Alexandria  did  not  arrive.  Finally  the 
second  message  reached  her,  and  she  learned  that  Csesar 
had  already  sent  for  her  to  go  to  him,  but  that  Pothinus 
had  taken  measures  to  prevent  her  knowing  it. 

Cleopatra,  abandoning  the  idea  of  entering  Alexandria 
with  the  trappings  of  a  queen,  bethought  herself  of  a 
plan  to  do  so  not  merely  under  a  disguise,  but  as  a  bale 
of  goods.     Accompanied  by  a  single  devoted  attendant, 


22  These  Splendid  Women 

Apollodorus,  the  Sicilian,  she  embarked  from  near  Pe- 
lusium  in  a  decked  bark  which,  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
entered  the  port  of  Alexandria.  They  landed  at  a  pier 
before  one  of  the  lesser  gates  of  the  palace.  Cleopatra 
enveloped  herself  in  a  great  sack  of  coarse  cloth  of  many 
colors,  such  as  were  used  by  travelers  to  pack  up  mats 
and  mattresses,  and  Apollodorus  bound  it  round  with  a 
strap,  then  taking  the  sack  upon  his  shoulders,  entered 
the  gate  of  the  palace,  went  straight  to  the  apartments  of 
Caesar,  and  laid  his  precious  burden  at  his  feet. 

Aphrodite  rose  radiant  from  the  sea:  Cleopatra  less 
pretendingly  from  a  sack;  but  Caesar  was  none  the  less 
moved  at  the  surprise  and  ravished  with  the  apparition. 
Cleopatra,  who  was  then  nineteen,  was  in  the  flower  of 
her  marvelous  and  seductive  beauty.  Dion  Cassius  calls 
the  queen  of  Egypt  the  most  beautiful  of  women,  but 
Plutarch  finds  one  epithet  insufficient  to  depict  her,  and 
expresses  himself  thus :  "There  was  nothing  so  incom- 
parable in  her  beauty  as  to  compel  admiration;  but  by 
the  charm  of  her  physiognomy,  the  grace  of  her  whole 
person,  the  fascination  of  her  presence,  Cleopatra  left 
a  sting  in  the  soul."  This  is  her  veritable  portrait.  Cleo- 
patra did  not  possess  supreme  beauty,  she  possessed 
supreme  seductiveness.  As  Victor  Hugo  said  of  a  cele- 
brated theatrical  character,  "She  is  not  pretty,  she  is 
worse,"  which  suggestive  expression  may  well  apply  to 
Cleopatra.  Plutarch  adds,  and  his  testimony  is  confirmed 
by  Dion,  that  Cleopatra  spoke  in  a  melodius  voice  and  with 
infinite  sweetness.  This  information  is  valuable  in  a  psy- 
chological point  of  view.  Certes,  this  charm  of  voice, 
divine  gift  so  rarely  bestowed,  this  pure  and  winning 
caress,  this  ever  new  delight  was  not  one  of  the  least 
attractions  of  the  Siren  of  the  Nile. 

This  first  interview  between  Caesar  and  Cleopatra  prob- 
ably extended  far  into  the  night.  It  is  certain  that,  with 
the  earliest  dawn,  Caesar  sent  for  Ptolemy,  and  told  him 
he  must  be  reconciled  to  his  sister  and  associate  her  in 


These  Splendid  Women  23 

the  government.  "In  one  night,"  says  Dion  Cassius, 
"Caesar  had  become  the  advocate  of  her  of  whom  he  had 
erewhile  thought  himself  the  judge." 

Eighteen  years  previous  to  these  events,  Caesar,  being 
aedile,  had  endeavored  to  have  voted  by  a  plebiscit  the 
execution  of  the  will  of  Alexander  II.,  who  had  be- 
queathed Egypt  to  the  Roman  people.  Now,  Egv^pt  was 
subjugated  and  Caesar  had  but  to  say  the  word  for  this 
vast  and  rich  country  to  become  a  Roman  province.  But 
in  the  year  63  Cleopatra  was  only  just  born;  in  the 
year  65  Caesar  had  not  felt  the  bite  of  the  "Serpent 
of  the  Nile,"  as  Shakspeare  calls  her — the  consul  took 
good  care  not  to  remember  the  propositions  of  the  aedile. 
The  first  act  of  Caesar  on  reentering  Alexandria  was  sol- 
emnly to  recognize  Cleopatra  as  Queen  of  Egypt.  In 
order,  however,  to  humor  the  ideas  of  the  Egyptians  he 
determined  that  she  should  espouse  her  second  brother, 
Ptolemy  Neoteras,  and  share  the  sovereignty  with  him. 
As,  however,  Dion  remarks,  this  union  and  this  sharing 
were  equally  visionary;  the  young  prince,  who  was  only 
fifteen,  could  be  neither  king  nor  even  husband  to  the 
queen ;  apparently  Cleopatra  was  the  wife  of  her  brother, 
and  his  partner  on  the  throne;  in  reality  she  reigned 
solely,  and  continued  the  mistress  of  Caesar. 

During  the  eight  months  of  the  Alexandrian  struggle 
Caesar,  shut  up  in  the  palace,  had  scarcely  quitted  Cleo- 
patra, except  for  the  fight,  and  this  long  honeymoon  had 
seemed  short  to  him.  He  loved  the  beautiful  queen  as 
fondly,  and  perhaps  more  so,  than  in  the  early  days,  and 
he  could  not  resolve  to  leave  her.  In  vain  the  gravest 
interests  called  him  to  Rome,  where  disorder  reigned  and 
blood  was  flowing,  and  where,  since  the  December  of  the 
preceding  year,  not  a  letter  had  been  received  from  him; 
in  vain,  in  Asia,  Pharnaces,  the  conquerer  of  the  royal 
allies  of  Rome  and  of  the  legions  of  Domitius,  has  seized 
on  Pontus,  Cappadocia,  and  Armenia ;  in  vain,  in  Africa, 
Cato  and  the  last  adherents  of  Pompey  have  concentrated 


24  These  Splendid  Women 

at  Utica  an  immense  army — fourteen  legions,  ten  thou- 
sand Numidian  horsemen,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
elephants  of  war;  in  vain,  in  Spain,  all  minds  are  excited 
and  revolt  is  brewing.  Duty,  interest,  ambition,  danger 
— Caesar  forgets  everything  in  the  arms  of  Cleopatra. 
Truly  he  is  preparing  to  leave  Alexandria,  but  it  is  to 
accompany  the  beautiful  queen  on  a  pleasure  excursion 
up  the  Nile.  By  the  orders  of  Cleopatra,  one  of  those 
immense  flat-bottomed  pleasure  vessels  has  been  prepared, 
such  as  were  used  by  the  Lagidse  for  sailing  on  the  river, 
and  called  thalamegos  (pleasure  pinnace).  It  was  a 
veritable  floating  palace,  half  a  stadium  long  and  forty 
cubits  high  above  the  water-line.  The  stories  rose  one 
above  the  other,  surrounded  by  porticos  and  open  gal- 
leries, and  surmounted  by  belvederes  sheltered  from  the 
sun  by  purple  awnings.  Within  were  numerous  apart- 
ments, furnished  with  every  convenience  and  every  lux- 
urious refinement  of  Greco-Egyptian  civilization,  vast 
saloons  surrounded  by  colonnades,  a  banqueting-hall  pro- 
vided with  thirteen  couches,  with  a  ceiling  arched  like  a 
grotto,  and  sparkling  with  a  rock-work  of  jasper,  lapis 
lazuli,  cornelian,  alabaster,  amethyst,  aquamarine,  and 
topaz.  The  vessel  was  built  of  cedar  and  cypress,  the 
sails  were  of  byssus,  the  ropes  were  dyed  purple. 
Throughout,  carved  by  skillful  hands,  were  the  opening 
chalices  of  the  lotus,  wound  the  volutes  of  the  acanthus, 
twined  garlands  of  bean-leaves  and  flowers  of  the  date 
palm.  On  all  sides  shone  facings  of  marble,  of  thyia, 
ivory,  onyx,  capitals  and  architraves  of  bronze.  Mimes, 
acrobats,  troops  of  dancing-girls,  and  flutists  were  on 
board  to  cheer  the  austere  solitude  of  the  Thebaid  with 
the  diversions  and  luxuries  of  Alexandria. 

Caesar  and  Cleopatra  anticipate  with  rapture  this  voyage 
of  enchantments;  they  will  carry  their  young  loves  amid 
the  old  cities  of  Egypt,  along  the  "Golden  Nile,"  which 
they  will  ascend  as  far  as  the  mysterious  land  of  Ethiopia. 
But  on  the  very  eve  of  their  departure  the  legionaries 


These  Splendid  Women  25 

become  indignant,  they  murmur,  they  rebel ;  their  officers 
cry  aloud  to  the  consul,  and  Caesar  returns  to  reason.  For 
an  instant  he  contemplates  carrying  Cleopatra  away  with 
him  to  Rome,  but  that  project  must  be  deferred.  It  is  in 
Armenia  that  the  danger  is  most  pressing;  it  is  to 
Armenia  that  he  will  first  repair.  He  leaves  two  legions 
with  Cleopatra — a  faithful  and  formidable  guard,  which 
will  secure  the  tranquillity  of  Alexandria,  and  sets  sail 
for  Antioch. 

During  the  campaigns  of  Caesar  in  Armenia  and  Africa 
(from  July,  47,  to  June,  46,  b.  c.)  Cleopatra  remained  in 
Alexandria,  where  a  few  months  after  the  departure  of 
the  dictator  she  gave  birth  to  a  son.  She  named  him 
Ptolemy-Caesarion,  thus  proclaiming  her  intimate  relations 
with  Caesar,  which,  however,  were  no  secret  to  the 
Alexandrians. 

When  C^sar,  the  army  of  Cato  under  Thapsus  being 
crushed,  was  about  to  return  to  Rome,  he  wrote  to  Cleo- 
patra tq  meet  him  there.  Probably  she  arrived  there 
about  midsummer  of  the  year  46,  at  the  period  of  the 
celebration  of  Caesar's  four  triumphs.  In  the  second,  the 
triumph  of  Egypt,  Cleopatra  must  have  beheld,  at  the 
head  of  the  train  of  captives,  her  sister  Arsinoe,  who  at 
the  breaking  out  of  the  war  of  Alexandria  had  joined  her 
enemies.  The  queen  had  brought  with  her  her  son 
Caesarion,  her  pseudo-husband  the  young  Ptolemy,  and  a 
numerous  train  of  courtiers  and  officers.  Caesar  gave  up 
his  superb  villa  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Tiber  as  a  resi- 
dence for  Cleopatra  and  her  court. 

Officially,  if  we  may  thus  use  this  very  new  word  to 
express  a  very  old  thing,  Cleopatra  was  well  received  in 
Rome.  She  was  the  queen  of  a  great  country,  the  ally 
of  the  Republic,  and  she  was  the  guest  of  Caesar,  then 
all-powerful;  but,  beneath  the  homage  offered,  lurked 
contempt  and  hatred.  Not  that  Roman  society  took 
offense  at  her  intrigue  with  Caesar;  for  more  than  half 


26  These  Splendid  Women 

a  century,  republican  Rome  had  strangely  changed  its 
chaste  morals  and  severe  principles. 

In  so  dissolute  and  adulterous  a  city,  it  could  shock 
no  one  that  Cxsar  should  be  false  to  his  wife  with  one 
mistress  or  even  with  several;  but  in  the  midst  of  her 
debaucheries,  and  even  though  Rome  had  lost  many  of 
her  ancient  virtues,  she  still  preserved  the  pride  of  the 
Roman  name.  These  conquerors  of  the  world  looked 
upon  other  nations  as  of  servile  race  and  inferior  human- 
ity. Little  did  they  care  for  the  transient  loves  of  Caesar 
and  Ennoah,  queen  of  Mauritania,  nor  would  they  have 
cared  any  more  had  Cleopatra  served  merely  to  beguile 
his  leisure  during  the  war  of  Alexandria;  but  in  bringing 
this  woman  to  the  seven-hilled  city,  in  publicly  acknowl- 
edging her  as  his  mistress,  in  forcing  on  all  the  spectacle 
of  a  Roman  citizen,  five  times  consul  and  thrice  dictator, 
as  the  lover  of  an  Egyptian  woman,  Caesar  seemed,  ac- 
cording to  the  ideas  of  the  time,  to  insult  all  Rome.  As 
Merivale  justly  observes :  "If  one  can  imagine  the  effect 
that  would  have  been  produced  in  the  fifteenth  century 
by  the  marriage  of  a  peer  of  England  or  of  a  grandee  of 
Spain  with  a  Jewess  some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the 
impression  made  on  the  Roman  people  by  the  intrigue 
of  Caesar  and  Cleopatra." 

Caesar  had  received  supreme  power  and  had  been  dei- 
fied. He  was  created  dictator  for  ten  years,  and  in  the 
city  his  statue  bore  this  inscription:  "Caesari  semi- 
deo" — To  Caesar  the  demigod.  He  might  believe  him- 
self sufficiently  powerful  to  despise  Roman  prejudices; 
for  the  rest,  during  the  last  two  years  of  his  life,  Caesar, 
till  then  so  prudent,  so  cautious  in  humoring  the  senti- 
ments of  the  plebeians,  so  skillful  in  using  them  for  his 
own  designs,  pretended  in  his  public  life  to  despise  and 
brave  public  opinion.  It  was  the  same  in  his  private  life ; 
far  from  dismissing  Cleopatra,  he  visited  her  more  fre- 
quently than  ever  at  the  villa  on  the  Tiber,  talked  in- 


These  Splendid  Women  27 

cessantly  of  the  queen,  and  allowed  her  publicly  to  call 
her  son  Cassarion. 

He  went  further  still;  he  erected  in  the  temple  of 
Venus  the  golden  statue  of  Cleopatra,  thus  adding  to 
the  insult  to  the  Roman  people  the  outrage  to  the  Roman 
gods.  It  was  not  enough  that  Caesar  for  love  of  Cleo- 
patra had  not  reduced  Egypt  to  a  Roman  province;  not 
enough  that  he  had  installed  this  foreigner  in  Rome,  in 
his  villa  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  and  that  he  lavished 
on  her  every  mark  of  honor  and  every  testimony  of  love; 
— now  he  dedicated,  in  the  temple  of  a  national  divinity, 
the  statue  of  this  prostitute  of  Alexandria,  this  barbarous 
queen  of  the  land  of  magicians,  of  thaumaturgy  [wonder- 
working], of  eunuchs,  of  servile  dwellers  by  the  Nile, 
these  worshipers  of  stufifed  birds  and  gods  with  the  heads 
of  beasts.  Men  asked  each  other  where  the  infatuation  of 
Caesar  would  end.  It  was  reported  that  the  dictator  was 
preparing  to  propose,  by  the  tribune  Helvius  Cinna,  a 
law  which  would  permit  him  to  espouse  as  many  wives  as 
he  desired  in  order  to  beget  children  by  them.  It  was 
said  that  he  was  about  to  recognize  the  son  of  Cleopatra 
as  his  heir,  and  still  further,  that  after  having  exhausted 
Italy  in  levies  of  men  and  money  he  would  leave  the 
government  of  Rome  in  the  hands  of  his  creatures  and 
.transfer  the  seat  of  empire  to  Alexandria.  These  rumors 
aroused  all  minds  against  Caesar,  and,  if  we  may  credit 
Dion,  tended  to  arm  his  assassins  against  him  (to  furnish 
the  dagger  to  slay  him).  Notwithstanding  this  hostility, 
Cleopatra  was  not  deserted  in  the  villa  on  the  Tiber.  To 
please  the  divine  Julius,  to  approach  him  more  intimately, 
the  Caesarians  controlled  their  antipathy  and  frequently 
visited  the  beautiful  queen.  To  this  court  of  Egypt  trans- 
ported to  the  banks  of  the  Tiber  came  Mark  Antony, 
Dolabella,  Lepidus,  then  general-of-horse ;  Oppius  Curio, 
Cornelius  Balbus,  Helvius  Cinna,  Matius,  the  praetor 
Vendidius,  Trebonius,  and  others.  Side  by  side  with  the 
partisans  of  Caesar  were  also  some  of  his  secret  enemies. 


28  These  Splendid  Women 

such  as  Atticus,  a  celebrated  silver  merchant  with  great 
interests  in  Egypt,  and  others  whom  he  had  won  over, 
like  Cicero.  The  latter  while  making  his  peace  with  Caesar 
did  not  forget  his  master-passion,  love  of  books  and  of 
curiosities.  An  insatiable  collector,  he  thought  to  enrich 
his  library  at  Tusculum  without  loosing  his  purse-strings, 
and  requested  Cleopatra  to  send  for  him  to  Alexandria, 
where  such  treasures  abounded,  for  a  few  Greek  manu- 
scripts and  Eg}^ptian  antiquities.  The  queen  promised 
willingly,  and  one  of  her  officers,  Aumonius,  who,  for- 
merly an  ambassador  of  Ptolemy  Auletes  to  Rome,  had 
there  known  Cicero,  undertook  the  commission;  but 
whether  through  forgetfulness  or  negligence  the  promised 
gifts  came  not,  and  Cicero  preserved  so  deep  an  enmity  to 
the  queen  in  consequence  that  he  afterwards  wrote  to 
Atticus,  "I  hate  the  queen  (odi  reginam),"  giving  as  his 
only  reason  for  this  aversion  the  failure  of  the  royal 
promise.  The  former  consul  had  also  received  an  affront 
from  Sarapion,  one  of  Cleopatra's  officers.  This  man 
had  gone  to  his  house,  and  when  Cicero  asked  him  what 
he  wished  he  had  replied  rudely:  "I  seek  Atticus,"  and 
at  once  departed.  How  often  does  the  ill-conduct  of 
upper  servants   create  a  prejudice  against   the   great. 

The  assassination  of  Caesar,  which  struck  Cleopatra  like 
a  thunderbolt,  would  have  been  the  destruction  of  all  her 
hopes  if  one  could  lose  hope  at  twenty-five.  C^sar  dead, 
there  was  nothing  to  detain  her  in  Rome,  and  she  did  not 
feel  safe  in  this  hostile  city  amid  the  bloody  scenes  of  the 
parricidal  days.  She  prepared  to  depart,  but  Antony 
having  entertained  for  a  moment  the  weak  desire  of  op- 
posing to  Octavius  as  Caesar's  heir  the  little  Caesarian, 
Cleopatra  remained  in  Rome  until  the  middle  of  April. 
When  the  queen  perceived  that  this  project  was  finally 
abandoned,  she  hastened  to  depart  from  the  city  where  she 
had  experienced  so  much  contempt  and  which  she  quitted 
with  rage  in  her  heart. 

After  his  victory  over  Brutus,  Antony  overran  Greec6 


These  Splendid  Women  29 

and  Asia  Minor  for  the  purpose  of  levying  tribute,  and 
was  everywhere  received  as  a  conqueror.  Cities  and  kings 
vied  with  each  other  in  adulation,  heaped  up  honors  and 
lavished  gifts  on  him  to  secure  immunity  for  the  succor 
they  had  afforded,  willingly  or  by  force,  to  the  vanquished 
party.  At  Athens,  Megara,  Ephesus,  Magnesia,  and 
Tarsus  embassies  and  royal  visits  followed  each  other. 
To  preserve  to  their  kingdoms  a  quasi-autonomy,  every 
petty  sovereign  of  Asia  hastened  to  obtain  from  the 
powerful  triumvir,  a  new  investiture  of  his  crown.  Cleo- 
patra alone,  whether  from  queenly  pride  or  womanly  art, 
remained  in  Egypt  and  sent  no  ambassador;  she  seemed 
to  pretend  to  ignore  that  the  victory  at  Philippi  had  ren- 
dered Antony  the  master  of  the  East. 

The  silence  of  Cleopatra  surprised  and  irritated  Antony. 
Perhaps  wounded  pride  was  not  the  only  sentiment  in  the 
soul  of  the  triumvir.  When  he  was  commanding  the 
cavalry  of  Gabinius  he  had  seen  Cleopatra,  then  fifteen 
years  old;  he  had  seen  her  again  at  Rome,  the  year  of 
Caesar's  death.  Without  agreeing  wholly  with  Appian,  that 
Antony  was  already  in  love  with  the  queen  of  Egypt,  it 
may  be  credited  that  her  beauty  and  her  attractions  had 
made  on  him  a  deep  impression.  He  remembered  the 
"Siren  of  the  Nile,"  and  amid  the  visits  of  so  many 
kings  and  powers  it  was,  above  all,  hers  that  he  awaited, 
but  awaited  in  vain.  In  the  position  of  Antony,  how- 
ever, to  speak  was  to  be  obeyed.  He  commanded  Cleo- 
patra to  repair  to  Tarsus,  to  vindicate  before  his 
tribunal  her  ambiguous  conduct  during  the  civil  war. 
Antony  enjoyed  in  advance  this  deliciously  cruel  pleasure : 
the  beautiful  Cleopatra,  the  haughty  queen  of  Egypt,  the 
woman  at  whose  feet  he  had  seen  the  divine  Julius,  com- 
ing to  him  as  a  suppliant. 

On  a  day  when  the  triumvir  on  his  judgment-seat 
was  giving  public  audience  in  the  midst  of  the  agora  of 
Tarsus,  a  great  uproar  arose  on  the  banks  of  the  Cydnus. 
Antony  inquired  what  it  meant.    Flatterers  as  all  Greeks 


30  These  Splendid  Women 

are,  the  Cilicians  replied  that  it  was  Aphrodite  herself 
who,  for  the  happiness  of  Asia,  was  coming  to  visit 
Bacchus.  Antony  liked  to  assume  the  name  of  Bacchus. 
The  crowd  which  thronged  the  public  square  rushed  in 
a  body  to  the  shore.  Antony  was  left  alone  with  his 
lictors  in  the  deserted  agora — his  dignity  kept  him  there, 
but  he  fidgets  in  his  curule  chair,  till  finally  curiosity 
gains  the  day.  Unaccustomed  to  self-control,  he,  also, 
descends  to  the  strand.  The  sight  is  worth  the  trouble — 
a  vision  divine  which  carries  one  back  to  the  dawn  of 
mythologic  times.  Cleopatra  is  entering  Tarsus,  ascend- 
ing the  Cydnus  on  a  vessel  plated  with  gold  over  which 
float  sails  of  Tyrian  purple.  The  silver  oars  rise  and  fall 
in  measured  cadence  to  the  music  of  Greek  lyres  and 
Egyptian  harps.  The  queen,  the  goddess  Cleopatra,  lying 
beneath  an  awning  of  cloth  of  gold  which  shades  the 
deck,  appears  as  the  painters  usually  represent  Aphrodite, 
surrounded  by  rosy  children  like  the  Loves,  beautiful 
young  girls  scarcely  clad  with  lightest  drapery  as  Graces 
and  sea-nymphs,  bearing  garlands  of  roses  and  the  lotus- 
flower  and  waving  great  fans  of  the  feathers  of  the  ibis. 
On  the  prow  of  the  vessel  other  Nereides  form  groups 
worthy  the  brush  of  Apelles;  Loves  suspended  to  the 
yards  and  rigging  seem  descending  from  the  skies.  In- 
cense and  spikenard  kept  burning  by  slaves  surround  the 
vessel  with  a  light  and  odorous  vapor  which  sends  its 
perfume  to  both  banks  of  the  stream. 

Antony  at  once  despatched  one  of  his  favorites  to 
Cleopatra  to  request  her  to  sup  with  him  that  same  night. 
Cleopatra,  availing  herself  doubtless  of  her  title  of  god- 
dess rather  than  of  that  of  queen — a  queen  of  Egypt  was 
nobody  in  comparison  with  a  triumvir — made  response 
that  it  was  she  who  invited  Antony  to  supper,  and  the 
Roman  did  not  decline  the  invitation.  He  went  at  the 
hour  appointed  to  the  palace,  which  several  days  previ- 
ously Cleopatra  had  had  secretly  prepared  with  gorgeous 
magnificence.     The   banquet-hall,   sumptuously   adorned. 


These  Splendid  Women  31 

shone  with  the  brilliancy  of  chandeliers,  candelabra,  and 
a  multitude  of  golden  sconces  arranged  symmetrically  in 
circles,  lozenges,  etc.  The  feast,  worthy  of  its  decora- 
tions, abounded  in  nectarean  wines  served  in  vases  of  soHd 
gold,  and  in  rare  and  artistic  viands  prepared  by  a  master 
hand.  Antony  was  a  great  gastronomist,  and  three 
months  before  this  had  given  his  cook  a  house  for  a  dish 
that  pleased  him.  He  would  have  given  a  whole  town 
to  the  cook  of  Cleopatra.  As  for  the  beautiful  Egyptian, 
the  triumvir  was  already  willing  to  give  her  the  whole 
world.  The  next  day  Antony  gave  a  supper  to  the  queen. 
He  hoped  to  surpass,  by  means  of  money,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  his  reception,  but  he  was  the  first  to  recognize 
his  inability  to  rival  her  as  an  Amphitryon,  and,  clever 
man  that  he  was,  he  jested  gayly  in  Cleopatra's  presence 
at  his  meanness  and  coarse  taste.  Probably  in  these  two 
entertainments  there  was  no  mention  of  the  grievances, 
real  or  pretended,  with  which  Rome  charged  Cleopatra. 
Antony  had  no  longer  any  thought  of  summoning  her 
before  his  tribunal  as  a  suppliant — the  suppliant  would 
have  been  Antony  himself  if  Cleopatra  had  rejected  his 
advances.  Henceforth  it  was  the  queen  that  commanded ; 
the  all-powerful  triumvir  had  become  the  "slave  of  the 
Egyptian  woman,"  as  Dion  Cassius  indignantly  exclaims. 

The  first  advantage  Cleopatra  took  of  her  power  was 
to  have  her  son,  by  Caesar,  Ptolemy-Csesarion,  recognized 
as  legitimate  heir  to  the  crown  of  Egypt.  At  Antony's 
request  the  decree  was  immediately  ratified  by  his  col- 
leagues, Octavius  and  Lepidus. 

When  Cleopatra  arrived  at  Tarsus  in  the  summer  of 
41  B.  c,  Antony  was  preparing  to  march  against  the  Par- 
thians.  At  the  end  of  a  month  the  concentration  of  his 
troops  was  accomplished,  the  fleets  ready,  and  no  obstacle 
remained  to  the  departure  of  the  army.  But  this  month 
had  been  passed  with  Cleopatra,  and  Antony  had  found  it 
very  short.    Listening  only  to  his  passion,  he  put  off  the 


32  These  Splendid  Women 

expedition  till  the  spring  and   followed   the   queen  into 
Egypt. 

Then  began  that  mad  life  of  pleasure  and  debauchery, 
that  long  and  sumptuous  orgy,  which  even  in  the  third 
century  of  our  era,  and  after  the  excesses  of  Nero  and 
Heliogabalus,  was  still  quoted  in  the  Roman  world,  though 
then  slaves  to  every  corruption  and  exhausted  in  efforts 
of  magnificence,  as  an  inimitable  model. 
'  01  'AxJixY]To5toi :  "Those  whose  Hfe  is  inimitable." 
This,  moreover,  was  the  name  assumed  by  Antony  and 
Cleopatra  and  the  intimate  companions  of  their  pleas- 
ures. Plutarch  and  Dion  relate  that  festival  succeeded 
to  festival,  entertainment  to  entertainment,  and  hunting 
parties  to  excursions  on  the  Nile.  Cleopatra  quitted 
Antony  neither  day  nor  night.  She  drank  with  him, 
she  gambled  with  him,  hunted  with  him,  she  was  even 
present  at  his  military  exercises  when  by  chance  this 
man  of  war,  remembering  that  he  was  a  soldier,  took  a 
fancy  to  reviev/  his  legions.  It  is  further  related  that 
Cleopatra  was  incessantly  inventing  some  new  diversion, 
some  unexpected  pleasure.  But  this  list  is  very  brief, 
this  sketch  a  very  modest  and  faint  description  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  superb  orgies,  the  unrestrained  voluptuousness, 
and  the  nameless  prodigaHties  of  the  'Tnimitables."  Pliny 
alone  of  the  ancient  writers  has  summed  them  up,  perhaps 
unknown  to  himself,  in  the  legend,  more  or  less  symbolic, 
of  the  Pearl.  One  day,  says  this  writer,  when  Antony 
was  extolling  the  luxuriousness  and  profusion  of  a  certain 
entertainment,  he  exclaimed  that  no  other  could  surpass 
it.  Cleopatra,  who  always  affected  to  put  no  limit  to  the 
possible,  replied  that  the  present  feast  was  a  wretched 
affair,  and  she  laid  a  wager  that  the  next  day  she  would 
give  one  on  which  she  would  expend  ten  millions  of 
sesterces  (two  millions  one  hundred  thousand  francs). 
Antony  took  the  bet.  The  next  day  the  feast,  magnificent 
as  it  was,  had  nothing  to  distinguish  it  from  the  preceding, 
and    Antony    did    not    fail    to    rally    Cleopatra.      "Per 


These  Splendid  Women  33 

Bacchus,"  cried  he,  "this  would  never  cost  ten  millions  o£ 
sesterces !"  "I  know  that,"  replied  the  queen,  "but  you 
see  only  the  accessories.  I  myself  will  drink  alone  the 
ten  millions,"  and  at  once  detaching  from  her  ear  a 
single  pearl — the  largest  and  most  perfect  ever  seen — 
she  threw  it  into  a  golden  cup,  in  which  it  was  dissolved 
in  the  vinegar  there  prepared,  and  swallowed  at  one 
draught  the  acid  beverage.  She  was  about  to  sacrifice  the 
second  pearl  when  L.  Plancus,  the  umpire  of  the  wager, 
arrested  her  hand  by  declaring  that  she  had  won. 

Picture  to  yourself  the  most  costly  materials,  marbles, 
breccia,  granites,  ebony  and  cedar  woods,  porphyry, 
basalt,  agate,  onyx,  lapis-lazuli,  bronze,  silver,  ivory,  and 
gold;  conceive  the  most  imposing  Egyptian,  the  most 
beautiful  Grecian  architecture,  imagine  the  Parthenon  and 
the  temple  of  Jupiter  Olympus,  the  Pavilion  of  Rameses, 
and  the  ruins  of  ApoUinopolis  Magna;  recreate  the  royal 
palaces  of  Alexandria,  which,  with  their  dependencies, 
their  gardens,  their  terraces,  rising  one  above  another, 
made  up  a  third  of  the  city:  reconstruct  the  massive  en- 
closures— those  double  pylons  into  which  opened  avenues 
bordered  with  sphinxes ;  those  obelisks,  those  magnificent 
propylsea,  those  saloons  three  hundred  feet  long  and  a 
hundred  and  fifty  wide,  supported  by  vast  columns,  in 
which  rise  double  rows  of  pillars  ten  meters  in  circum- 
ference and  twenty  meters  in  height,  bursting  into  lotus 
blossoms  at  their  summits;  those  sanctuaries  with  their 
screens  enameled  in  gold  and  tortoise  shell,  and  studded 
with  gems;  those  long  picture  galleries  adorned  with 
the  paintings  of  Zeuxis,  Apelles,  and  Protogenes;  those 
magnificent  thermae  with  their  calidaria,  their  basins  of 
hot  and  cold  water,  their  retiring-rooms  with  walls  of  red 
porphyry,  their  porticos  adorned  with  statues;  those 
gymnasia,  theaters,  hippodromes,  those  stages  covered 
with  saffron  powder,  those  triclinia  where  the  couches 
of  embossed  silver  rested  on  Babylonian  carpets ;  those 
atria  with  their  uncovered  roofs,  sustained  by  Corinthian 


34  These  Splendid  Women 

columns  with  capitals  of  golden  bronze,  by  day  shaded 
by  purple  awnings,  the  silk  of  which  was  worth  its  weight 
in  gold,  and  at  night  open  to  the  starry  sky.  See,  at  all 
seasons,  blooming  in  the  gardens  roses  and  violets,  and 
scatter  the  pavements  of  onyx  and  mosaics  four  times  a 
day  with  fresh  flowers;  people  this  scenery  with  crowds 
of  slaves,  pipers,  players  of  the  harp  and  psaltery,  dancers, 
actors,  Atellans  [of  the  drama,  as  at  Atellan,  of  lascivious 
character,  Atellanae],  acrobats,  mimes,  gymnasts,  ballet- 
dancers,  and  serpent-charmers.  Load  these  tables  with 
oysters  from  Tarentum,  lampreys  dressed  with  garum, 
bonitos  cooked  in  fig-leaves,  pink  ousels,  quails,  pheasants, 
swans,  geese  livers,  stews  made  of  the  brains  of  birds, 
hares  cooked  rare  and  dusted  with  coriander  seeds,  truffles 
as  large  as  the  fist  which  were  assumed  to  fall  from  the 
sky  like  aerolites,  cakes  of  honey  and  wheat  flour,  and 
the  most  delicious  fruits  of  the  Mediterranean  basin.  In 
the  kitchens,  roasting  before  the  fires  on  immense  hearths, 
for  the  entertainment  of  fifteen  guests,  twelve  wild  boars, 
spitted  successively  at  intervals  of  three  minutes,  so  that, 
according  to  the  duration  of  the  feast,  one  of  these  ani- 
mals might  be  exactly  cooked  at  the  very  moment  it  was 
required  to  be  served.  Cool  in  snow  the  old  Caecuban 
wine,  the  Falernian  ripened  for  twenty  years,  the  wines 
of  Phlemtes,  Chios,  Issa,  the  imperial  wine  of  Lesbos, 
the  ripe  wine  of  Rhodes,  the  sweet  wine  of  Mitylene,  the 
Saprian,  smelling  of  violets,  and  the  Thasos,  said  to 
"rekindle  failing  love."  Light  up  the  lamps,  the  torches, 
and  the  chandeliers,  wind  the  pillars  with  streamers  of 
fire;  open  the  mouths  of  the  bronze  colossi  that  the  icy 
water  may  flow  and  cool  the  atmosphere,  and  the  breasts 
of  Isis  that  the  sweet  waters  may  perfume  it;  call  in  the 
choirs  of  singing  women  with  their  harps  and  cythera, 
and  the  females  who  dance  nude  with  castanets  of  gold 
in  their  hands;  add  to  them  representations  of  comedies, 
the  farces  of  mimes,  the  tricks  of  jugglers,  and  the  phan- 
tasmagorias of  the  magicians ;  offer  mock  engagements  in 


These  Splendid  Women  35 

the  harbor,  and  in  the  hippodrome  chariot  races  and  com- 
bats between  lions ;  summon  the  masqueraders  and  witness 
the  processions  where  cluster,  around  the  golden  car 
of  Bacchus  and  the  Cyprian,  fifteen  hundred  satyrs,  a 
thousand  cupids,  and  eight  hundred  beautiful  slaves  as 
nymphs  and  mimes.  Finally,  imagine  all  that  Asiatic 
pomp,  Egyptian  state,  and  Grecian  refinement  and  deprav- 
ity, and  Roman  power  and  licentiousness  blended  in  a 
single  form — a  sensual  and  splendid  woman,  delighting 
in  pleasure  and  sumptuousness — can  achieve  with  such 
elements  and  you  will  have  some  idea,  though  very  vague 
and  feeble,  of  the  "Life  Inimitable." 

Sometimes  Antony  and  Cleopatra  indulged  in  more 
vulgar  pleasures.  Disguised,  she  as  a  barmaid,  and  he 
as  a  porter  or  a  sailor,  they  ran,  by  night,  about  the 
streets  of  Alexandria,  knocking  at  the  doors  of  houses, 
abusing  belated  pedestrians,  entering  low  lodging-houses, 
and  quarreling  with  drunken  men.  To  the  great  delight 
of  Antony  these  froHcs  usually  ended  in  fights.  Despite 
his  strength  and  skill,  the  Roman  did  not  always  win, 
and  Cleopatra  was  sometimes  well  splashed  with  mud; 
but  victors  or  vanquished,  the  lovers  returned  happy  to 
the  palace,  quite  willing  to  renew  their  adventures.  The 
secret,  however,  escaped,  and  thenceforth  the  royal  pair 
were  handled  more  cautiously,  without  being  entirely 
spared. 

These  follies  did  not  turn  the  Alexandrians  against  the 
triumvir  as  much  as  might  have  been  supposed.  If  they 
had  little  esteem  for  him,  they  liked  him  for  his  good 
humor,  and  the  ease  with  which  he  was  approached. 
They  delighted  to  say:  "Antony  wears  for  the  Romans 
a  tragic  mask,  but  here  he  lays  it  aside,  and  assumes  for 
us  the  mask  of  comedy."  His  intimate  companions  and 
his  officers,  who  shared  without  scruple  his  voluptuous 
and  unbridled  excesses,  were  still  less  inclined  to  resent 
them,  for,  like  himself,  they  yielded  to  the  bewitching 
charm  of  Cleopatra.    They  loved,  they  admired  her,  they 


36  These  Splendid  Women 

bore  cheerfully  her  snubs  and  sarcasms,  and  were  not 
shocked,  even  if  in  the  midst  of  a  feast,  at  a  sign  from 
Antony,  she  quitted  the  banquet  hall  with  him,  and  re- 
turning after  a  short  absense  resumed  her  position  on  the 
couch  of  the  triclinium.  They  studied  to  please  and  divert 
her,  each  strove  to  be  the  vilest  toady  to  the  queen — 
"humillimus  assentator  reginse" — for  a  smile  of  Cleopatra 
they  sacrificed  all  dignity.  Once,  L.  Plancus,  a  man  of 
consular  dignity,  crowned  with  rushes,  a  fish's  tail  at- 
tached to  his  loins,  and  his  naked  body  painted  blue, 
actually  performed  in  her  presence  the  dance  of  Glaukos. 

With  Caesar,  Cleopatra  had  instinctively  played  the 
part  of  a  crowned  Aspasia,  ever  bewitching,  but  uniting 
dignity  with  grace,  concealing  the  courtesan  beneath  the 
robe  of  a  queen,  ever  equable  in  mood,  expressing  herself 
in  the  choicest  language,  talking  politics,  art,  literature, 
her  marvelous  faculties  rising  without  effort  to  the  level 
of  the  lofty  intelligence  of  the  dictator:  with  Antony, 
Cleopatra,  at  first  through  policy,  afterwards  through 
love,  played  the  part  of  a  Lais  born  by  chance  to  a 
throne.  Seeing  at  once  that  the  inclinations  of  Antony 
were  coarse  and  low,  that  his  wit  was  commonplace  and 
his  language  very  loose,  she  immediately  set  herself  to 
the  same  tone.  She  kept  pace  with  this  great  drinker, 
remaining  even  till  dawn  with  the  foaming  flagons  and 
goblets  continually  replenished;  she  accompanied  him  by 
night  into  the  suspicious  streets  of  Rhakotis,  the  old 
portion  of  Alexandria;  she  jested  cynically,  sang  amatory 
songs,  recited  licentious  poems;  she  quarreled  with  him, 
provoking  and  returning  both  abuse  and  blows.  Nothing 
delighted  Antony  like  the  sight  of  that  ravishing  little 
hand  threatening  and  beating  him,  or  to  hear  from  those 
divine  lips,  fit  for  the  choruses  of  Sophocles  or  the  odes 
of  Sappho,  the  same  words  that  he  had  heard  bandied 
among  the  guard  of  the  Esquiline  gate  and  in  the  unmen- 
tionable dens  of  the  Suburra. 

On  the  morning  of  September  2d  the  vessels  of  Antony 


These  Splendid  Women  37 

formed  in  four  grand  divisions,  crossed  the  channel  of 
Actium,  and,  issuing  thence,  were  disposed  in  battle  array 
opposite  the  fleet  of  Octavius,  who  was  awaiting  them 
at  eight  or  ten  stadia  from  the  land.  On  the  side  of 
Antony,  he  himself,  with  Publicola,  commanded  the  right 
wing;  Marcus  Justus  and  Marcus  Octavius  the  center, 
and  Coelius  the  left  wing,  Cleopatra  commanded  the 
reserve  with  sixty  Egyptian  vessels.  On  the  side  of 
the  Romans,  Octavius  commanded  the  right  wing, 
Agrippa  the  left,  and  Arruntius  the  center.  About  noon 
the  battle  began.  The  troops  on  land,  who  were  under 
arms  and  motionless  near  the  shore,  saw  not,  as  is  usual 
in  sea-fights,  the  galleys  rush  at  each  other  seeking  to 
strike  with  their  rostra  or  beaks  of  steel.  On  account  of 
their  slow  rate  of  speed,  the  heavy  vessels  of  Antony  could 
not  strike  with  that  impetuosity  which  gives  force  to  the 
shock,  and  the  light  galleys  of  the  Romans  feared  to  break 
their  rostra  against  those  enormous  ships,  constructed  of 
strong  beams  joined  with  iron.  The  battle  was  like  a  suc- 
cession of  sieges,  a  combat  of  moving  citadels  with  moving 
towers.  Three  or  four  Roman  galleys  would  unite  to 
attack  one  of  Antony's  vessels,  so  huge,  says  Virgil,  that 
they  looked  like  the  Cyclades  sailing  on  the  waters.  The 
soldiers  cast  grappling-irons,  fired  burning  arrows  on  the 
decks,  attached  fire-ships  to  the  keels,  and  rushed  to  board 
them,  while  the  powerful  batteries  placed  at  the  summit 
of  the  towers  of  the  beleaguered  ship  showered  down  on 
the  assailants  a  hail  of  stones  and  arrows.  At  the  very 
first  the  Roman  right  wing,  commanded  by  Octavius,  gave 
way  before  the  attack  of  the  division  under  Coelius.  At 
the  other  extremity  Agrippa,  having  designed  a  movement 
to  surround  Antony  and  Publicola,  these  turned  on  their 
right  and  thus  uncovered  the  center  of  the  line  of  battle. 
The  swift  Liburnian  galleys  improved  the  opportunity  to 
attack  the  vessels  of  the  two  Marcuses,  in  the  rear  of 
which  was  the  reserve  under  Cleopatra.  Success  and 
reverse  went  hand  in  hand;  the  two  sides  fought  with 


38  These  Splendid  Women 

equal  fury,  and  the  victory  was  doubtful,  but  the  nervous- 
ness of  Cleopatra  was  to  be  the  ruin  of  Antony's  cause. 
For  hours  she  had  suffered  a  fever  of  agony.  From  the 
deck  of  the  Antoniad  she  anxiously  watched  the  move- 
ments of  the  fleets.  In  the  beginning  she  had  hoped  for 
victory ;  now,  terrified  by  the  clamor  and  tumult,  her  only 
desire  was  to  escape.  She  awaited  with  ever-increasing 
impatience  the  signal  for  retreat.  Suddenly  she  noticed 
the  right  wing  moving  towards  the  coast  of  Epirus,  the 
left  putting  to  sea,  and  the  center,  which  protected  her, 
attacked,  separated,  broken,  penetrated  by  the  Roman 
Liburnians.  Then,  "pale  with  her  approaching  death" — 
pallens  morte  futura — listening  only  to  her  terror,  she 
ordered  the  sails  to  be  hoisted,  and  with  her  sixty  vessels 
she  passed  through  the  midst  of  the  combatants  and  fled 
towards  the  open  sea.  In  the  midst  of  the  battle  Antony 
perceived  the  motion  of  the  Egyptian  squadron,  and  rec- 
ognized the  Antoniad  by  its  purple  sails;  Cleopatra  was 
fleeing,  robbing  him  at  the  decisive  moment  of  his  power- 
ful reserve;  but  the  queen  could  not  order  the  retreat, 
he  alone  could  give  the  signal  for  that.  There  is  some 
mistake — a  feint,  perhaps  a  panic.  Antony  in  his  turn 
hoists  the  sails  of  his  galley  and  rushes  in  the  wake  of 
Cleopatra.  He  will  bring  back  the  Egyptian  vessels  and 
restore  the  chances  of  the  battle.  But  before  overtaking 
the  Antoniad  the  unhappy  man  has  time  to  think.  Cleo- 
patra has  deserted  him  either  through  cowardice  or 
treason ;  he  can  bring  back  to  Actium  neither  her  nor  her 
fleet.  Next  he  thinks  he  will  return  to  the  combat,  which 
is  now  only  a  rout,  to  die  with  his  soldiers — to  die  without 
seeing  Cleopatra  once  more!  he  cannot  do  it.  A  fatal 
power  drags  him  after  this  woman.  He  reaches  the 
Antoniad,  but  then  he  is  overcome  with  his  disgrace.  He 
refuses  to  see  the  queen.  He  seats  himself  on  the  prow 
of  the  vessel,  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  remains  thus 
for  three  days  and  three  nights. 

The  Egyptian  fleet  and  some  other  vessels  which  had 


These  Splendid  Women  39 

followed  the  fugitives  put  into  the  part  of  Caenopolis, 
near  Cape  Tenarum.  Often  repulsed  by  the  obstinate 
silence  of  Antony,  Cleopatra's  women  finally  succeeded 
in  bringing  about  an  interview  between  the  lovers.  They 
supped  and  passed  the  night  together.  O,  wretched 
human  weakness! 

Some  of  his  friends  who  had  escaped  from  Actium 
brought  them  news.  The  fleet  had  made  an  obstinate 
resistance,  but  all  the  vessels  which  were  not  sunk  or 
burned  were  now  in  possession  of  Octavius.  The  army 
still  maintained  its  position,  and  appeared  to  be  faithful. 
Antony  at  once  sent  messengers  and  despatched  Canid- 
ius  with  orders  to  recall  those  troops,  and  himself  em- 
barked for  Cyrenaica,  where  he  still  had  several  legions. 
One  of  his  vessels  bore  his  jewels,  his  valuables,  and  all 
the  services  of  gold  and  silver  which  he  had  used  at  his 
entertainments  of  the  kings,  his  allies.  Before  departing 
from  Caenopolis,  Antony  divided  all  this  wealth  among  a 
few  of  his  friends,  whom  he  constrained  to  seek  an  asylum 
in  Greece,  refusing  to  allow  them  any  longer  to  follow 
his  fatal  fortunes.  When  parting  from  them  he  talked 
in  the  kindest  manner,  seeking  to  console  them  and  re- 
garding their  tears  with  a  sad  but  kindly  smile. 

Cleopatra  had  sailed  from  Greece  some  days  before 
Antony.  She  was  in  haste  to  return  to  Egypt,  fearing  that 
the  news  of  the  disaster  of  Actium  might  provoke  a  revo- 
lution. To  mislead  the  people  for  a  few  days,  and  thus 
gain  time  to  take  her  measures,  she  entered  the  port  of 
Alexandria  with  all  the  parade  of  a  triumph.  Her  ships, 
their  prows  adorned  with  crowns,  resounded  with  the 
songs  of  victory,  and  the  music  of  flutes  and  sistra.  No 
sooner  was  she  reinstalled  in  the  palace  than  she  put  to 
death  many  whose  intrigues  she  feared.  These  executions, 
which  benefited  the  royal  treasury,  for  death  involved  the 
confiscation  of  the  wealth  of  the  real  or  pretended  guilty, 
delivered  Cleopatra  from  all  fear  of  an  immediate  revolu- 
tion, but  she  none  the  less  felt  a  mortal  terror  about  the 


40  These  Splendid  Women 

future.  She  still  suffered  from  the  horror  of  Actium ; — 
at  times  haunted  by  the  idea  of  suicide,  she  contemplated 
a  death  as  pompous  as  had  been  her  life,  and  she  erected 
at  the  extremity  of  Cape  Lochias  an  immense  tomb,  in 
which  to  consume  herself  and  her  treasures.  At  other 
times  she  thought  of  flight,  and  by  her  orders  a  number 
of  her  largest  ships  were  transported  with  great  reenf  orce- 
ments  of  men,  engines,  and  beasts  of  burden  across  the 
isthmus  to  the  Red  Sea.  She  had  a  vision  of  embark- 
ing with  all  her  wealth  for  some  unknown  country  of 
Asia  or  Africa,  there  to  renew  her  existence  of  lust  and 
pleasure. 

Antony  soon  returned  to  Alexandria.  He  was  in  a 
state  of  gloomy  discouragement;  his  army  in  Acarnania, 
deserted  by  Canidius,  who  had  taken  flight,  had  sur- 
rendered to  Octavius  after  a  week  of  hesitation;  in 
Cyrenaica  he  could  not  even  obtain  a  meeting  with  his 
lieutenant  Scarpus,  who,  having  taken  sides  with  the 
Cssarians,  had  threatened  his  life;  Herod,  his  creature, 
whom  he  had  made  king  of  the  Jews,  had  offered  his 
allegiance  to  the  conqueror  of  Actium;  defection  on  all 
sides  with  his  allies  as  with  his  legions.  Antony  reached 
the  point  of  doubting  even  Cleopatra;  he  would  scarcely 
see  her.  Exasperated  at  the  cruelty  of  the  gods,  and  still 
more  so  at  the  perfidy  of  men,  he  resolved  to  pass  in  soli- 
tude the  wretched  days  that  his  enemies  might  yet  permit 
him  to  live.  The  story  of  Timon,  the  misanthrope  of 
Athens,  which  he  heard  in  happier  days,  recurred  to  his 
memory,  and,  determined  to  live  like  Timon,  he  settled 
in  the  barren  mole  of  Poseidon,  and  busied  himself  there 
in  erecting  a  tower  which  he  intended  to  call  the  Timonion. 

Cleopatra  yielded  less  submissively  to  fate.  Attacked 
in  the  crisis  of  danger  by  a  fainting  courage  to  which 
Antony  was  an  utter  stranger,  the  immediate  danger  past 
she  recovered  all  her  powers.  With  her  exalted  imagina- 
tion she  could  not  despair  either  wholly  or  even  for  very 
long.    She  learned  that  the  vessels  she  had  had  transported 


These  Splendid  Women  41 

to  the  Red  Sea  had  been  burned  by  the  Arabs,  and  thus 
her  flight  prevented.  She  at  once  prepared  for  determined 
resistance.  Whilst  Antony  was  losing  his  time  playing  the 
misanthrope,  the  queen  raised  fresh  forces,  furnished  new- 
vessels,  formed  new  alliances,  repaired  the  fortifications 
of  Pelusium  and  Alexandria,  distributed  arms  to  the 
people,  and  to  encourage  the  Alexandrians  to  the  deter- 
mined defense  of  their  city,  she  inscribed  the  name  of  her 
son,  Csesarion,  in  the  rolls  of  the  militia.  Antony  could 
not  but  admire  the  courage  and  energy  of  Cleopatra,  and, 
entreated  by  his  friends  besides  being  weary  of  his  soli- 
tude, he  resum.ed  his  residence  at  the  palace.  The  queen 
received  him  as  in  the  happy  days  of  his  return  from 
Cilicia  or  Armenia.  They  again  enjoyed  with  the  friends 
of  the  last  hour  banquets,  festivals,  orgies — only  "The 
Inimitables"  changed  their  appellation,  and  called  them- 
selves the  "Inseparables  in  Death":    hi  cruvaxoOofvoupLeuoj. 

The  choice  of  this  funereal  name,  assumed  as  much 
from  resignation  as  bravado,  sufficiently  reveals  the  state 
of  mind  of  the  lovers.  Antony,  it  seems,  had  lost  all 
hope;  Cleopatra  still  hoped,  but  with  intervals  of  gloomy 
discouragement.  At  such  times  she  would  descend  to 
the  crypts  of  the  palace,  near  the  prisons  of  the  con- 
demned; slaves  would  drag  them,  a  few  at  a  time,  from 
their  cells,  to  test  on  them  the  effects  of  different  poisons. 
Cleopatra  watched  with  a  curiosity,  more  painful  even 
than  cruel,  the  dying  agonies  of  the  victims.  The  ex- 
periments were  frequently  repeated,  for  the  queen  could 
not  discover  the  poison  of  her  dreams — a  poison  that 
slays  instantly  without  pain  and  without  shock.  She 
noticed  that  violent  poisons  killed  swiftly  but  with  fright- 
ful torture,  and  that  less  active  ones  inflicted  lingering 
agonies ;  then  she  studied  the  bites  of  serpents,  and  after 
new  experiments  she  discovered  that  the  venom  of  an 
Egyptian  viper,  called  in  Greek  "Aspis,"  caused  neither 
convulsion  nor  any  painful  sensation,  and  led  by  a  con- 
stantly increasing  drowsiness  to  a  gentle  death,  like  a 


42  These  Splendid  Women 

sleep.  As  for  Antony,  like  Cato  and  Brutus,  he  had  his 
sword. 

Octavius  already  considered  himself  the  master  of 
Egypt — and  of  the  world.  He  feared  but  little  the  broken 
sword  in  the  hand  of  Antony,  still  less  the  shattered 
remains  of  the  army  of  Cleopatra  and  the  wrecks  of  her 
navy.  But  there  were  two  things  still  beyond  his  power 
— all  powerful  emperor  as  he  was — the  immense  treasures 
of  Cleopatra,  on  which  he  had  reckoned  to  pay  his  legion- 
aries, and  Cleopatra  herself,  whom  he  wished  to  grace 
his  triumph;  she  might  escape  the  Roman  by  death  and 
her  treasure  by  fire.  Traitors  and  spies  were  not  lacking 
in  Alexandria ;  and  Octavius  knew,  through  their  reports, 
of  the  queen's  experiments  in  poisons  as  well  as  that  she 
had  collected  all  her  treasures  in  her  future  tomb.  He 
was  compelled  to  employ  cunning  with  the  Egyptian,  and, 
believing  himself  justified  by  the  words  of  her  ambassa- 
dor to  propose  such  a  step,  he  declared  that  if  the  queen 
would  compass  Antony's  death  she  should  preserve  her 
sovereignty.  Some  days  after,  fearful  that  this  somewhat 
savage  diplomacy  might  not  prevail  with  Cleopatra,  he 
despatched  to  her  Thyreus,  his  freedman.  In  Egypt, 
Thyreus  talked  openly  before  the  court  and  Antony  of  the 
resentment  of  Octavius  and  of  his  severe  decrees,  but 
having  obtained  without  difficulty  a  secret  audience  of 
Cleopatra  he  told  her  that  he  had  been  charged  by  his 
master  to  repeat  his  assurances  that  she  had  nothing  to 
fear.  To  satisfy  her  of  this,  he  pretended  to  confide  to 
her  that  she  was  beloved  by  Octavius  as  of  old  by  Caesar 
and  Antony.  Cleopatra  had  many  interviews  with 
Thyreus  and  publicly  showed  him  much  friendliness. 

About  the  middle  of  the  spring  of  30  b.  c.  news  reached 
Alexandria  that  a  Roman  army  had  crossed  the  western 
frontier  of  Egypt.  Antony  collected  a  few  troops  and 
marched  to  meet  the  enemy.  A  battle  was  fought  be- 
neath the  walls  of  the  strong  city  of  Praetonium,  which 
was  already  in  the  hands  of  the  Romans.    Antony,  with 


These  Splendid  Women  43 

his  handful  of  men,  was  repulsed.  When  he  returned 
to  Alexandria  Octavius  was  within  two  days'  march  of 
the  city.  Whilst  his  lieutenant,  Cornelius  Callus,  was 
penetrating  into  Egypt  by  Cyrenaica  he  himself  had  en- 
tered through  Syria  and  had  taken  Pelusium,  after  a  real 
or  feigned  resistance,  in  either  case  a  very  brief  one. 
After  the  surrender  of  Pelusium,  the  last  of  the  Romans 
who  had  remained  faithful  to  Antony  cried  out  treason, 
declaring  that  Seleucus  had  surrendered  the  city  by  the 
orders  of  Cleopatra  herself.  Is  it  true  that  the  queen  had 
given  such  instructions?  It  may  be  doubted;  neverthe- 
less, Cleopatra's  trouble  of  mind  and  her  secret  hopes 
give  a  color  to  these  suspicions.  To  vindicate  herself 
she  gave  up  to  Antony  the  wife  and  children  of  Seleucus, 
and  proposed  that  he  should  put  them  to  death.  This  was 
but  a  very  doubtful  proof  of  her  innocence,  but  Antony 
had  to  be  satisfied  with  it.  His  anger  subsided  before 
her  protestations  and  tears,  true  or  false ;  now  was  not  the 
time  for  recriminations :  he  must  fight.  Octavius  had 
pitched  his  camp  on  the  heights  about  twenty  stadia  east 
of  Alexandria.  Antony,  having  led  in  person  a  strong 
reconnoitering  body  of  cavalry  in  that  direction,  fell  in, 
not  far  from  the  Hippodrome,  with  the  whole  body  of 
the  Roman  cavalry.  A  furious  battle  was  fought  in 
which,  notwithstanding  their  great  superiority  of  numbers, 
the  Romans  were  broken  and  utterly  routed.  Antony  pur- 
sued them  to  their  entrenchments ;  then  he  returned  to  the 
city,  strengthened  by  this  victory,  of  little  importance 
indeed,  but  brilliant  and  of  good  augury.  He  sprang 
from  his  horse  before  the  palace,  and,  without  taking 
time  to  lay  aside  his  armor,  rushed,  still  wearing  helmet 
and  cuirass,  and  covered  with  the  blood  and  sweat  of  the 
fight,  to  embrace  Cleopatra.  She,  deceiving  herself  as  to 
the  importance  of  this  skirmish,  felt  her  love  and  her 
hopes  at  the  same  time  revive.  She  had  again  found 
her  Antony,  her  emperor,  her  god  of  war.  She  threw 
herself  passionately  on  his  neck,  wounding  her  breasts 


44  These  Splendid  Women 

against  his  cuirass.  At  this  moment  of  sincere  feehng 
she  must  have  reproached  herself  grievously  (if  she  had 
committed  it)  with  the  treason  of  Pelusium ;  and  the  con- 
fidences which  she  had  accepted  from  the  envoy  of  Oc- 
tavius  must  have  recurred  to  her  as  a  bitter  remorse. 
Cleopatra  desired  to  review  the  troops.  She  made  them  a 
speech,  and,  having  had  the  bravest  of  them  pointed  out 
to  her,  she  gave  him  a  complete  armor  of  solid  gold. 

Antony,  restored  to  hope,  no  longer  contemplated  nego- 
tiating, and  the  same  day  sent  a  herald  to  Octavius  to 
invite  him  to  decide  their  quarrel  by  single  combat  in 
sight  of  the  two  armies.  Octavius  replied  disdainfully 
that  there  was  more  than  one  other  way  for  Antony  to 
seek  death.  This  speech,  that  marked  so  great  assurance 
in  his  enemy,  struck  Antony  as  a  fatal  omen.  Suddenly, 
dashed  from  his  chimerical  hopes,  he  felt  his  situation 
in  all  its  gloomy  reality.  Resolved,  nevertheless,  the  next 
day  to  fight  one  last  battle,  he  ordered  a  sumptuous  feast. 
"To-morrow,"  said  he,  *'it  will,  perhaps,  be  too  late  I" 
The  supper  was  sad  as  a  funeral  banquet;  the  few 
friends  that  were  faithful  to  him  maintained  a  gloomy 
silence ;  some  even  wept.  Antony,  simulating  a  confidence 
which  he  did  not  feel,  said  to  them  to  revive  their  sinking 
spirits:  "Think  not  that  to-morrow  I  shall  only  seek  a 
glorious  death ;  I  shall  fight  for  life  and  victory."  At  day- 
break, while  the  troops  were  taking  up  their  position  be- 
fore the  Roman  camp,  and  the  Egyptian  fleet,  which  was 
to  support  the  action  by  attacking  that  of  Octavius,  was 
doubling  Cape  Lochias,  Antony  posted  himself  on  an 
eminence  whence  he  commanded  both  the  plain  and  the 
sea.  The  Egyptian  vessels  advanced  in  battle  array 
against  the  Roman  Liburnians,  but,  when  within  two 
arrow-flights,  the  rowers  raised  high  in  air  their  long 
oars  in  salute.  The  salute  was  returned  by  the  Romans, 
and  immediately  the  two  fleets,  mingling  and  making 
now  but  one,  sailed  into  the  port  together.  Almost  at 
the  same  moment  Antony  sees  his  cavalry, — that  cavalry 


These  Splendid  Women  45 

which  the  day  previous  had  fought  with  such  intrepidity, — 
move  without  orders  and  pass  over  to  Octavius.  In  the 
Roman  Hnes  the  trumpets  sounded  the  onset;  the  legions 
dashed  forward  with  their  accustomed  war-cry:  ''Corn- 
minus!  Comminnsr  (Hand-to-hand!)  The  infantry  of 
Antony  did  not  wait  the  shock — it  broke  and  rushed 
towards  the  city,  dragging  their  leader  in  the  midst  of 
the  rout.  Antony,  mad  with  rage,  uttering  threats  and 
curses,  striking  the  fugitives  indifferently  with  the  blade 
and  the  flat  of  his  sword,  reentered  Alexandria  exclaim- 
ing that  he  was  betrayed  by  Cleopatra,  given  up  by  this 
woman  to  those  with  whom  he  had  fought  solely  for 
love  of  her. 

Cleopatra  had  no  longer  the  power  either  to  betray 
or  to  save  Antony;  for  she,  the  "New  Goddess,"  the 
"Queen  of  Kings,"  she,  too,  was  abandoned  by  her 
people,  as  he,  the  great  captain,  was  deserted  by  his 
army.  Their  cause  was  lost,  who  would  be  faithful 
to  it?  During  the  preceding  day  and  night,  Octavius's 
emissaries  had  worked  upon  the  legionaries  and  the 
Egyptians,  promising  to  the  former  amnesty,  to  the  latter 
safety.  The  valiant  soldier  on  whom  Cleopatra  the  day 
before  had  bestowed  the  golden  suit  of  armor  had  not 
even  waited  for  the  morning  to  pass  into  the  Roman 
camp ;  that  very  night  he  had  deserted !  At  the  sight 
of  the  fugitives  rushing  like  a  torrent  into  the  city, 
Cleopatra  is  overcome  with  terror.  She  is  aware  of 
the  suspicions  of  Antony,  she  knows  his  terrible  fits 
of  rage.  Already  she  is  familiar  with  the  idea  of  death, 
but  she  desires  a  more  easy  death,  a  death  the  sister 
of  sleep.  She  shudders  and  revolts  at  the  thought  of 
Antony's  sword;  she  has  a  vision  of  hideous  wounds 
in  her  person,  her  breast,  perhaps  her  face.  As  for 
attempting  to  calm  his  fury,  she  has  neither  strength 
nor  courage  for  that.  Desperate,  she  quits  the  palace 
with  Iras  and  Charmion,  and  withdraws  to  her  tomb,  of 
which  she  has  the  door  closed;  and,  to  prevent  Antony's 


46  These  Splendid  Women 

attempting  to  force  this  refuge,  she  gives  orders  to  tell 
him  she  is  no  more. 

Antony,  rushing  like  a  madman  about  the  deserted 
apartments  of  the  palace,  learns  the  news.  His  anger 
dissolves  in  tears:  "What  more  have  you  to  expect, 
Antony?"  exclaimed  he,  ''Fortune  robs  you  of  the  only 
blessing  which  made  life  dear."  He  commands  his  f reed- 
man  Eros  to  slay  him;  then,  unfastening  his  cuirass, 
he  addresses  this  last  adieu  to  Cleopatra :  *'0,  Cleopatra ! 
I  do  not  complain  that  thou  art  taken  from  me,  since 
in  a  moment  I  shall  rejoin  thee."  Eros,  meanwhile,  has 
drawn  his  sword,  but  instead  of  striking  Antony,  he 
stabs  himself.  "Brave  Eros,"  said  Antony,  seeing  him 
fall  dead  at  his  feet,  "you  set  me  the  example!"  and, 
thrusting  the  sword  into  his  breast,  he  sinks  fainting 
upon  a  couch. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  recovers  consciousness.  He  calls 
and  entreats  the  slaves,  the  soldiers,  to  put  an  end  to 
him,  but  none  dare  to  comply,  and  he  is  left  alone, 
howling  and  struggling  on  the  couch.  Meanwhile  the 
queen  has  been  informed  of  the  fact.  Her  grief  is 
bitter  and  profound — the  more  bitter  that  it  is  mingled 
with  remorse.  She  must  see  Antony  again;  she  com- 
mands that  he  be  brought,  dead  or  alive.  Diomedes, 
her  secretary,  hastens  to  the  palace.  Antony  is  at  the 
last  gasp,  but  the  joy  at  hearing  that  the  queen  is  not 
dead  revives  him,  and  "he  rises,"  says  Dion  Cassius, 
"as  if  he  might  still  live!"  Slaves  bear  him  in  their 
arms,  and,  to  hasten  their  movements,  he  utters  en- 
treaties, invectives,  threats,  which  mingle  with  the  death- 
rattle.  They  reach  the  tomb;  the  queen  leans  from  a 
window  of  the  upper  story;  fearing  a  surprise,  she 
will  not  have  the  portcullis  raised,  but  she  throws  down 
some  ropes,  and  commands  them  to  be  fastened  round 
Antony.  Then,  aided  by  Iras  and  Charmion,  the  only 
ones  she  has  allowed  to  enter  the  mausoleum,  she  begins 
to  drag  him  up.     "It  was  not  easy,"  says  Plutarch,  "for 


These  Splendid  Women  47 

women  thus  to  lift  a  man  of  Antony's  size.  "  Never, 
say  those  who  witnessed  it,  was  a  sadder  or  more  pitiful 
sight.  Cleopatra,  with  arms  stiff  and  brow  contracted, 
dragged  painfully  at  the  ropes,  whilst  Antony,  bleeding 
and  dying,  raised  himself  as  much  as  possible,  extending 
towards   her  his   dying  hands. 

At  last  he  reached  her,  and  they  laid  him  on  a  bed, 
where  she  long  held  him  in  a  close  embrace.  Her  grief 
spent  itself  in  tears,  in  sobs,  in  despairing  kisses.  She 
called  him  her  husband,  her  master,  her  emperor;  she 
struck  her  breast,  tore  it  with  her  nails  then  again  casting 
herself  upon  him,  she  kissed  his  wound,  wiping  off  on 
her  face  the  blood  that  flowed  from  it.  Antony  endeav- 
ored to  calm  and  console  her,  and  entreated  her  to 
care  for  her  own  safety.  Burning  with  fever,  he  begged 
for  a  drink,  and  swallowed  a  cup  of  wine.  Death  was 
rapidly  approaching.  Cleopatra  renewed  her  lamenta- 
tions. "Do  not  grieve,"  said  he,  "for  this  last  mis- 
fortune; rather  congratulate  me  for  the  blessings  I  have 
enjoyed  in  my  life,  and  the  happiness  that  has  been 
mine  in  being  the  most  powerful  and  illustrious  of 
men;  congratulate  me  on  this,  that,  being  a  Roman, 
none  but  a  Roman  has  conquered  me."  He  expired  in 
the  arms  of  Cleopatra,  dying,  as  Shakspeare  says,  where 
he  had  wished  to  live. 

When  Octavius  heard  of  Antony's  death,  he  despatched 
Proculeius  and  Callus  with  orders  to  seize  Cleopatra  be- 
fore she  could  have  time  to  kill  herself.  Their  calls  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  queen ;  she  descended  and  began 
to  parley  with  them  from  behind  the  portcullis.  Deaf 
to  the  promises  and  protestations  of  the  two  Romans, 
Cleopatra  declared  that  she  would  only  surrender  if 
Octavius  would  agree  by  oath  to  maintain  her  or  her  son 
on  the  throne  of  Egypt;  otherwise  Cassar  should  have 
but  her  dead  body.  Proculeius,  espying  the  window  which 
had  admitted  Antony,  left  his  companion  to  converse 
alone  with  the  queen,  and,  finding  a  ladder,  placed  it 


48  These  Splendid  Women 

against  the  thick  wall,  and  thus  entering  the  tomb,  he 
descended  the  staircase  within  and  sprang  upon  Cleo- 
patra. Charmion,  turning  at  the  noise,  exclaimed :  "Un- 
happy queen,  thou  art  taken  alive !"  Cleopatra  snatched 
from  her  girdle  a  dagger  which  for  some  time  she  had 
carried  in  order  to  kill  herself,  but  Proculeius  seized  her 
wrist  and  only  allowed  her  to  free  herself  after  being 
assured  that  she  had  no  other  weapon  and  no  suspicious 
phial  about  her.  He  then  resumed  the  respectful  attitude 
demanded  by  the  rank  and  m.isfortunes  of  the  royal  cap- 
tive. He  assured  her  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
Octavius.  "O  Queen,"  said  he,  "you  are  unjust  towards 
Caesar,  whom  you  would  rob  of  the  noblest  opportunity 
of    exercising   clemency." 

Her  treasures  and  her  person  in  the  power  of  the 
Romans,  Cleopatra  felt  herself  without  the  means  of 
defense.  What  availed  it  that  Caesar  left  her  her  life, 
since  henceforth  she  desired  only  to  die?  The  only 
favor  she  asked  was  to  be  allowed  to  pay  funeral  honors 
to  Antony.  Although  the  same  request  had  already 
been  made  by  the  captains  of  his  army  who  had  served 
under  Antony,  Octavius,  touched  with  compassion, 
granted  the  prayer  of  the  Egyptian.  Cleopatra  bathed 
the  body  of  her  lover,  adorned  and  armed  it  as  for  a 
last  battle,  then  she  laid  it  in  the  tomb  which  she  had 
built  for  herself  and  in  which  she  had  vainly  sought 
death.  After  the  obsequies  the  queen  was  conducted,  by 
order  of  Octavius,  to  the  palace  of  the  Lagidae.  There 
she  was  treated  with  every  attention,  but  she  was,  so  to 
speak,  never  lost  sight  of   (a  prisoner  forever  watched). 

The  terrible  emotions  through  which  Cleopatra  had 
passed,  the  intense  grief  which  overwhelmed  her,  above 
all  the  wounds  she  had  inflicted  on  herself  during  the 
death-struggle  of  Antony,  brought  on  an  inflammation 
of  the  chest,  attended  by  a  burning  fever.  In  this 
illness  she  saw  the  hoped-for  death,  and  to  hasten  her 
deliverance  she  refused  for  many  days  all  medical  treat- 


These  Splendid  Women  49 

ment  and  all  food.  Octavius  was  informed  of  this,  and 
he  sent  her  word  that  she  must  have  forgotten  that  he 
held  her  four  children  as  hostages,  and  that  their  lives 
should  answer  for  hers.  This  horrid  threat  overcame 
the  resolution  of  Cleopatra,  who  then  consented  to  be 
properly  cared  for. 

Octavius  meanwhile  felt  he  had  cause  for  disquiet. 
What  if  the  pride  of  the  queen  overpowered  her  moth- 
erly instincts?  what  if  the  horror  of  gracing  as  a  captive 
his  approaching  triumph  should  decide  her  to  a  self- 
inflicted  death?  Doubtless  she  was  well  guarded,  but 
what  negligence  or  what  treason  might  he  not  fear  ?  Be- 
sides, though  without  arms  or  poison,  might  she  not 
induce  the  faithful  Charmion  to  strangle  her  ?  "Now  Oc- 
tavius," so  says  Dion  Cassius,  "conceived  that  the  death 
of  Cleopatra  would  have  robbed  him  of  his  glory."  He 
resolved,  therefore,  to  see  her.  He  knew  he  possessed 
sufficient  self-control  not  to  become  entangled,  and  be- 
lieved himself  sufficiently  skillful  to  keep  the  queen  un- 
certain of  the  fate  to  which  he  destined  her. 

Cleopatra  was  no  longer  deceived  as  to  the  pretended 
sentiments  of  love  with  which,  according  to  Thyreus,  she 
had  inspired  Octavius ;  of  this  we  are  assured  by  Plutarch. 
Since  the  emperor's  arrival  in  Alexandria  he  had  not  even 
expressed  the  intention  of  seeing  her,  and  the  harsh 
treatment,  the  rigorous  seclusion,  and  the  savage  threats 
which  she  had  to  endure  from  him  did  not  certainly  indi- 
cate a  man  in  love.  Can  it  be  said,  however,  that  the 
prospect  of  the  unexpected  visit  of  Octavius  aroused  in 
Cleopatra,  desperate  as  she  was,  no  glimpse  of  hope,  no 
fugitive  vision  of  a  throne,  no  last  enthusiasm?  that  from 
her  beautiful  eyes  shot  no  ray  of  half-seen  triumph  ? 

The  queen,  scarcely  convalescent,  was  in  bed  when 
Octavius  entered.  She  sprang  from  the  couch,  though 
wearing  only  a  tunic,  and  knelt  before  him.  At  the  sight 
of  this  woman,  worn  out  by  fever,  emaciated,  dreadfully 
pale,  with  drawn  features,  eyes  sunken  and  red  with  tears. 


50  These  Splendid  Women 

bearing  on  her  face  and  breasts  the  marks  made  by  her 
own  hands,  Octavius  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  this  was 
the  enchantress  that  had  captivated  Csesar  and  enslaved 
Mark  Antony ;  but  had  Cleopatra  been  more  beautiful  than 
Venus  he  would  not  have  been  her  lover.  Continence  was 
not  among  his  virtues,  but  he  was  too  prudent  and  too 
clever  ever  to  sacrifice  his  interests  to  his  passions.  He 
urged  the  queen  to  return  to  her  couch,  and  seated  him- 
self near  her.  Cleopatra  began  to  vindicate  herself,  re- 
ferring all  that  had  passed  to  the  force  of  circumstances 
and  the  fear  she  felt  of  Antony.  She  often  ceased 
speaking,  interrupted  by  her  choking  sobs;  then,  in  the 
hope  of  moving  Octavius  to  pity  (of  seducing  him,  some 
say),  she  drew  from  her  bosom  some  of  Caesar's  letters, 
kissed  them,  and  exclaimed:  "Wouldst  thou  know  how 
thy  father  loved  me,  read  these  letters  .  .  .  Oh! 
Csesar!  why  did  I  not  die  before  thee!  .  .  .  but  for 
me  you  live  again  in  this  man!'*  and  through  her  tears 
she  essayed  to  smile  at  Octavius.  Lamentable  scene  of 
coquetry,  which  the  wretched  woman  no  longer  could  or 
knew  how  to  play. 

To  her  sighs,  her  moans,  the  emperor  made  no  reply, 
even  avoiding  looking  at  her  and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  floor.  He  spoke  only  to  reply,  one  by  one,  to  all 
the  arguments  by  which  the  queen  sought  to  justify 
herself.  Chilled  by  the  impassibility  of  this  man,  who, 
without  being  at  all  moved  by  her  misfortunes  and  her  suf- 
ferings, was  arguing  with  her  like  a  schoolmaster,  Cleo- 
patra felt  that  she  had  nothing  to  hope.  Again  death 
appeared  as  the  only  liberator.  Then  she  ceased  her 
pleas,  dried  her  tears,  and,  in  order  completely  to  deceive 
Octavius,  she  pretended  to  be  resigned  to  everything, 
provided  her  life  was  spared.  She  handed  him  the  list 
of  her  treasures,  and  entreated  him  to  permit  her  to  retain 
certain  jewels  that  she  might  present  them  herself  to  Livia 
and  Octavia  in  order  to  secure  their  protection.     "Take 


These  Splendid  Women  51 

courage,  O  woman!"  said  the  emperor  as  he  left  her. 
**Be  hopeful;  no  harm  shall  happen  to  you!'* 

Deceived  by  the  pretended  resignation  of  Cleopatra 
Octavius  no  longer  doubted  that  he  would  be  able  to 
exhibit  to  the  Roman  rabble  the  haughty  queen  of  Egypt 
walking  in  chains  before  his  triumphal  car.  He  had  not 
heard,  as  he  left  her,  the  last  word  uttered  by  Cleopatra, 
that  word  which,  since  the  taking  of  Alexandria,  she  had 
incessantly  repeated:  Ou  6pia[jL^£U(70[ji.ai !  "I  will  not  con- 
tribute to  his  triumph." 

A  few  days  after  this  interview,  an  intimate  com- 
panion of  Octavius,  taking  pity  on  such  dire  reverses, 
secretly  revealed  to  Cleopatra  that  the  next  day  she  would 
be  embarked  for  Rome.  She  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go 
with  her  women  to  offer  libations  at  the  tomb  of  Antony. 
She  was  borne  thither  in  a  litter,  being  still  too  weak  to 
walk.  After  pouring  the  wine  and  adjusting  the  crowns 
she  kissed  for  the  last  time  the  sepulchral  stone,  saying: 
"Oh,  beloved  Antony,  if  thy  gods  have  any  power — for 
mine  have  betrayed  me — do  not  abandon  thy  living  wife. 
Do  not  let  thyself  be  triumphed  over,  by  making  her  at 
Rome  take  part  in  a  disgraceful  show.  Hide  me  with  thee 
under  this  earth  of  Egypt." 

On  her  return,  Cleopatra  went  to  the  bath ;  her  women 
arrayed  her  in  her  most  magnificent  robes,  dressed  her 
hair  with  care,  and  adjusted  her  royal  crown.  Cleopatra 
had  ordered  a  splendid  repast;  her  toilet  ended,  she  was 
placed  at  the  table.  A  countryman  entered,  carrying 
a  basket.  A  soldier  of  the  guard  desiring  to  see  the 
contents,  the  man  opened  it  and  showed  some  figs ;  and, 
the  guard  exclaiming  at  the  beauty  of  them,  he  offered 
them  some  to  taste.  His  good  nature  lulled  all  suspicion ; 
he  was  allowed  to  pass.  Cleopatra  received  the  basket, 
sent  to  Octavius  a  letter  she  had  written  in  the  morning, 
and  was  then  left  alone  with  Iras  and  Charmion.  She 
opened  the  basket  and  separated  the  figs,  hoping  to  be 
stung  unawares,  but  the  reptile  was  asleep.    Cleopatra  dis- 


52  These  Splendid  Women 

covered  it  beneath  the  figs.  "There  it  is,  then !"  cried  she, 
and  began  to  rouse  it  with  a  golden  pin.  The  asp  bit  her 
on  the  arm. 

Warned  by  the  letter  of  Cleopatra,  Octavius  sent  in 
haste  to  the  apartments.  His  officers  found  the  guards 
at  their  post,  ignorant  of  what  had  occurred.  They 
forced  the  door  and  beheld  Cleopatra,  clad  in  her  royal 
robes,  lying  lifeless  on  her  golden  couch,  and  at  her  feet 
the  corpse  of  Iras.  Charmion  was  still  alive;  leaning 
over  Cleopatra,  she  was  arranging  with  her  dying  hands 
the  diadem  around  the  head  of  the  queen.  A  soldier 
exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  wrath :  "Is  this  well  done,  Char- 
mion?" "Yes,"  said  the  dying  Charmion,  "it  is  well 
done,  and  worthy  of  a  queen,  the  descendant  of  so  many 
kings !" 

Octavius  put  to  death  Cssarion,  the  son  of  Caesar  and 
Cleopatra,  but  he  was  merciful  to  the  dead  body  of  the 
queen.  Granting  the  mournful  prayer  she  had  made  to 
him  in  her  last  letter,  he  permitted  her  to  be  buried  beside 
Antony.  He  also  granted  honorable  burial  to  the  faithful 
slaves,  Charmion  and  Iras,  who  had  accompanied  their 
mistress  to  the  world  of  shadows. 

By  her  suicide,  Cleopatra  escaped  contributing  to  the 
triumph  of  Octavius,  but  failing  her  person  he  had  her 
effigy,  and  the  statue  of  Cleopatra  with  a  serpent  wound 
about  her  arm  was  borne  in  the  triumphal  procession. 
Does  it  not  seem  that  the  statue  of  this  illustrious  queen, 
who  had  subdued  the  greatest  of  the  Romans,  who  had 
made  Rome  tremble,  and  who  preferred  death  to  assist- 
ing at  her  own  humiliation,  had  by  her  death  triumphed 
over  her  conqueror,  and  still  defied  the  senate  and  the 
people  on  the  way  to  the  Capitol? 

We  can  easily  conceive  of  Cleopatra  as  a  great  queen, 
the  rival  of  the  mythic  Semiramis,  and  the  elder  sister 
of  the  Zenobias,  the  Isabelles,  the  Maria-Theresas,  and 
the  Catherines ;  but,  in  truth,  only  those  queens  are  great 
who  possess  manly  virtues,  who  rule  nations  and  compel 


These  Splendid  Women  53 

events  as  a  great  king  might  do.  Cleopatra  was  too 
essentially  a  woman  to  be  reckoned  among  these  glorious 
androgynuses.  If  for  twenty  years  she  preserved  her 
throne  and  maintained  the  independence  of  Egypt,  it  was 
done  by  mere  womanly  means — intrigue,  gallantry,  grace, 
and  weakness  which  is  also  a  grace.  Her  sole  method  of 
governing  was,  in  reality,  by  becoming  the  mistress  of 
Caesar  and  the  mistress  of  Mark  Antony.  It  was  the 
Roman  sword  that  sustained  the  throne  of  the  Lagidae. 
When  by  the  fault  of  Cleopatra  the  weapon  was  broken, 
the  throne  tottered  and  fell.  Ambition,  her  only  royal 
virtue,  would  have  been  limited  to  the  exercise  of  her 
hereditary  government  if  circumstances  had  not  devel- 
oped and  exalted  it. 

Knowing  herself  weak,  without  genius  and  without 
mental  force,  she  reckoned  wholly  on  her  lovers  for  the 
accomplishment  of  her  designs,  and  it  too  often  happened 
to  this  woman,  fatal  to  others  as  to  herself,  to  retard 
the  execution  of  these,  dominated,  as  she  ever  was,  by 
the  imperious  desire  of  some  entertainment  or  some 
pleasure.  This  queen  had  the  recklessness  of  the  courte- 
san; women  of  gallantry  might  have  considered  her  their 
august  and  tragic  ancestress.  She  only  lived  for  love, 
pomp,  and  magnificence;  wherefore,  when  her  lover  was 
slain,  her  beauty  marred,  her  wealth  lost,  and  her  crown 
shattered,  she  found,  to  face  death,  the  masculine  courage 
which  had  failed  her  in  life. 

No,  Cleopatra  was  not  a  great  queen.  But  for  her 
connection  with  Antony,  she  would  be  forgotten  with 
Arsinoe  or  Berenice.  If  her  renown  is  immortal,  it  is 
because  she  is  the  heroine  of  the  most  dramatic  love- 
story  of  antiquity. 


Zenohia 


By  EDWARD  GIBBON 

AS  early  as  the  reign  of  Claudius,  270  a.  d.,  the  city  of 
Autun,  alone  and  unassisted,  had  ventured  to  de- 
clare against  the  legions  of  Gaul.  After  a  siege  of 
seven  months  they  stormed  and  plundered  that  unfortu- 
nate city,  already  wasted  by  famine.  Lyons,  on  the  con- 
trary, had  resisted  with  obstinate  disaffecion  the  arms  of 
Aurelian.  We  read  of  the  punishment  of  Lyons,  but 
there  is  not  any  mention  of  the  rewards  of  Autun.  Such, 
indeed,  is  the  policy  of  civil  war :  severely  to  remember 
injuries,  and  to  forget  the  most  important  services.  Re- 
venge is  profitable,  gratitude  is  expensive. 

Aurelian  had  no  sooner  secured  the  person  and  prov- 
inces of  Tetricus  than  he  turned  his  arms  against 
Zenobia,^  the  celebrated  queen  of  Palmyra  and  the  East. 
Modern  Europe  has  produced  several  illustrious  women 
who  have  sustained  with  glory  the  weight  of  empire; 
nor  is  our  own  age  destitute  of  such  distinguished  char- 
acters. But  if  we  except  the  doubtful  achievements  of 
Semiramis,  Zenobia  is  perhaps  the  only  female  whose 
superior  genius  broke  through  the  servile  indolence  im- 
posed on  her  sex  by  the  climate  and  manners  of  Asia. 
She  claimed  her  descent  from  the  Macedonian  kings  of 
Egypt,  equaled  in  beauty  her  ancestor  Cleopatra,  and 
far  surpassed  that  princess  in  chastity  and  valor. 

Zenobia  was  esteemed  the  most  lovely  as  well  as  the 
most  heroic  of  her  sex.  She  was  of  a  dark  complexion 
(for  in  speaking  of  a  lady  these  trifles  become  important). 


These  Splendid  Women  SS 

Her  teeth  were  of  a  pearly  whiteness,  and  her  large  black 
eyes  sparkled  with  uncommon  fire,  tempered  by  the  most 
attractive  sweetness.  Her  voice  was  strong  and  har- 
monious. Her  manly  understanding  was  strengthened 
and  adorned  by  study.  She  was  not  ignorant  of  the 
Latin  tongue,  but  possessed  in  equal  perfection  the  Greek, 
the  Syriac,  and  the  Egyptian  languages.  She  had  drawn 
up  for  her  own  use  an  epitome  of  oriental  history,  and 
familiarly  compared  the  beauties  of  Homer  and  Plato 
under  the  tuition  of  the  sublime  Longinus. 

This  accomplished  woman  gave  her  hand  to  Odenathus, 
who,  from  a  private  station,  raised  himself  to  the  dominion 
of  the  East. 

She  soon  became  the  friend  and  companion  of  a  hero. 
In  the  intervals  of  war  Odenathus  passionately  delighted 
in  the  exercise  of  hunting;  he  pursued  with  ardor  the 
wild^  beasts  of  the  desert,  lions,  panthers,  and  bears ;  and 
the  ardor  of  Zenobia  in  that  dangerous  amusement  was 
not  inferior  to  his  own.  She  had  inured  her  constitu- 
tion to  fatigue,  disdained  the  use  of  a  covered  carriage, 
generally  appeared  on  horseback  in  a  military  habit,  and 
sometimes  marched  several  miles  on  foot  at  the  head  of 
the  troops. 

The  success  of  Odenathus  was  in  a  great  measure 
ascribed  to  her  incomparable  prudence  and  fortitude. 
Their  splendid  victories  over  the  Great  King,  whom  they 
twice  pursued  as  far  as  the  gates  of  Ctesiphon,  laid  the 
foundations  of  their  united  fame  and  power.  The  armies 
which  they  commanded,  and  the  provinces  which  they 
had  saved,  acknowledged  not  any  other  sovereigns  than 
their  invincible  chiefs.  The  senate  and  people  of  Rome 
revered  a  stranger  who  had  avenged  their  captive  emperor, 
and  even  the  insensible  son  of  Valerian  accepted 
Odenathus  for  his  legitimate  colleague. 

After  a  successful  expedition  against  the  Gothic  plun- 
derers of  Asia,  the  Palmyrenian  prince  returned  to  the 
city  of  Emesa  in  Syria.    Invincible  in  war,  he  was  there 


56  These  Splendid  Women 

cut  off  by  domestic  treason,  and  his  favorite  amusement 
of  hunting  was  the  cause,  or  at  least  the  occasion,  of  his 
death.  His  nephew,  Maeonius,  presumed  to  dart  his 
javeHn  before  that  of  his  uncle;  and,  though  admonished 
of  his  error,  repeated  the  same  insolence.  As  a  monarch, 
and  as  a  sportsman,  Odenathus  was  provoked,  took  away 
his  horse,  a  mark  of  ignominy  among  the  barbarians,  and 
chastized  the  rash  youth  by  a  short  confinement.  The 
offence  was  soon  forgot,  but  the  punishment  was  re- 
membered; and  Maeonius,  with  a  few  daring  associates, 
assassinated  his  uncle  in  the  midst  of  a  great  entertain- 
ment. 

Herod,  the  son  of  Odenathus,  though  not  of  Zenobia, 
a  young  man  of  a  soft  and  effeminate  temper,  was  killed 
with  his  father.  But  Maeonius  obtained  only  the  pleasure 
of  revenge  by  this  bloody  deed.  He  had  scarcely  time 
to  assume,  the  title  of  Augustus  before  he  was  sacrificed 
by  Zenobia  to  the  memory  of  her  husband. 

With  the  assistance  of  his  most  faithful  friends,  she 
immediately  filled  the  vacant  throne,  and  governed  with 
manly  counsels  Palmyra,  Syria,  and  the  East,  above  five 
years.  By  the  death  of  Odenathus,  that  authority  was  at 
an  end  which  the  senate  had  granted  him  only  as  a  per- 
sonal distinction;  but  his  martial  widow,  disdaining  both 
the  senate  and  Gallienus,  obliged  one  of  the  Roman 
generals  who  was  sent  against  her  to  retreat  into  Europe, 
with  the  loss  of  his  army  and  his  reputation.  Instead 
of  the  little  passions  which  so  frequently  perplex  a  female 
reign,  the  steady  administration  of  Zenobia  was  guided 
by  the  most  judicious  maxims  of  policy.  If  it  was  ex- 
pedient to  pardon,  she  could  calm  her  resentment;  if  it 
was  necessary  to  punish,  she  could  impose  silence  on  the 
voice  of  pity. 

Her  strict  economy  was  accused  of  avarice ;  yet  on  every 
proper  occasion  she  appeared  magnificent  and  liberal. 
The  neighboring  states  of  Arabia,  Armenia,  and  Persia, 
dreaded  her  enmity,  and  solicited  her  alliance.     To  the 


These  Splendid  Women  57 

dominions  of  Oclenathus,  which  extended  from  the  Eu- 
phrates to  the  frontiers  of  Bithynia,  his  widow  added  the 
inheritance  of  her  ancestors,  the  populous  and  fertile 
kingdom  of  Egypt.  The  emperor  Claudius  acknowledged 
her  merit,  and  was  content  that,  while  he  pursued  the 
Gothic  war,  she  should  assert  the  dignity  of  the  empire 
in  the  East. 

The  conduct,  however,  of  Zenobia  was  attended  with 
some  ambiguity;  nor  is  it  unlikely  that  she  conceived  the 
design  of  erecting  an  independent  and  hostile  monarchy^ 
She  blended  with  the  popular  manners  of  Roman  princes 
the  stately  pomp  of  the  courts  of  Asia,  and  exacted  from 
her  subjects  the  same  adoration  that  was  paid  to  the 
successors  of  Cyrus.  She  bestowed  on  her  three  sons  a 
Latin  education,  and  often  showed  them  to  the  troops 
adorned  with  the  Imperial  purple.  For  herself  she  re- 
served the  diadem,  with  the  splendid  but  doubtful  title 
of  Queen  of  the  East. 

When  Aurelian  passed  over  into  Asia,  against  an  ad- 
versary whose  sex  alone  could  render  her  an  object  of 
contempt,  his  presence  restored  obedience  to  the  province 
of.  Bithynia,  already  shaken  by  the  arms  and  intrigues  of 
Zenobia.  Advancing  at  the  head  of  his  legions,  he  ac- 
cepted the  submission  of  Ancyra,  and  was  admitted  into 
Tyana,  after  an  obstinate  siege,  by  the  help  of  a  per- 
fidious citizen.  The  generous  though  fierce  temper  of 
Aurelian  abandoned  the  traitor  to  the  rage  of  the  sol- 
diers :  a  superstitious  reverence  induced  him  to  treat  with 
lenity   the   countrymen   of    Apollonius    the   philosopher. 

Antioch  was  deserted  on  his  approach,  till  the  emperor, 
by  his  salutary  edicts,  recalled  the  fugitives,  and  granted 
a  general  pardon  to  all  who,  from  necessity  rather  than 
choice,  had  been  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  Palmyrenian 
queen.  The  unexpected  mildness  of  such  a  conduct 
reconciled  the  minds  of  the  Syrians,  and,  as  far  as  the 
gates  of  Emesa,  the  wishes  of  the  people  seconded  the 
terror  of  his  arms. 


58  These  Splendid  Women 

Zenobia  would  have  ill  deserved  her  reputation  had  she 
indolently  permitted  the  emperor  of  the  West  to  approach 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  her  capital.  The  fate  of  the 
East  was  decided  in  two  great  battles ;  so  similar  in  almost 
every  circumstance,  that  we  can,  scarcely  distinguish  them 
from  each  other,  except  by  observing  that  the  first  was 
fought  near  Antioch,  and  the  second  near  Emesa.  In 
both  the  queen  of  Palmyra  animated  the  armies  by  her 
presence,  and  devolved  the  execution  of  her  orders  on 
Zabdas,  who  had  already  signalized  his  military  talents  by 
the  conquest  of  Egypt. 

The  numerous  forces  of  Zenobia  consisted  for  the  most 
part  of  light  archers,  and  of  heavy  cavalry  clothed  in 
complete  steel.  The  Moorish  and  Illyrian  horse  of  Aure- 
lian  were  unable  to  sustain  the  ponderous  charge  of  their 
antagonists.  They  fled  in  real  or  affected  disorder,  en- 
gaged the  Palmyrenians  in  a  laborious  pursuit,  harassed 
them  by  a  desultory  combat,  and  at  length  discomfited 
this  impenetrable  but  unwieldy  body  of  cavalry.  The  light 
infantry,  in  the  meantime,  when  they  had  exhausted  their 
quivers,  remaining  without  protection  against  a  closer 
onset,  exposed  their  naked  sides  to  the  swords  of  the 
legions.  Aurelian  had  chosen  these  veteran  troops  who 
were  usually  stationed  on  the  Upper  Danube,  and  whose 
valor  had  been  severely  tried  in  the  Alemannic  war. 

After  the  defeat  of  Emesa,  Zenobia  found  it  impossible 
to  collect  a  third  army.  As  far  as  the  frontier  of  Egypt, 
the  nations  subject  to  her  empire  had  joined  the  standard 
of  the  conqueror,  who  detached  Probus,  the  bravest  of 
his  generals,  to  possess  himself  of  the  Egyptian  prov- 
inces. Palmyra  was  the  last  resource  of  the  widow  of 
Odenathus. 

She  retired  within  the  walls  of  her  capital,  made  every 
preparation  for  a  vigorous  resistance,  and  declared,  with 
the  intrepidity  of  a  heroine,  that  the  last  moment  of  her 
reign  and  of  her  life  should  be  the  same. 

Amid  the  barren  deserts  of  Arabia  a  few  cultivated 


These  Splendid  Women  59 

spots  rise  like  islands  out  of  the  sandy  ocean.  Even  the 
name  of  Tadmor,  or  Palmyra,  by  its  signification  in  the 
Syriac  as  well  as  in  the  Latin  language,  denoted  the  mul- 
titude of  palm-trees  which  afforded  shade  and  verdure 
to  that  temperate  region.  The  air  was  pure,  and  the 
soil,  watered  by  some  invaluable  springs,  was  capable  of 
producing  fruits  as  well  as  corn. 

A  place  possessed  of  such  singular  advantages,  and 
situated  at  a  convenient  distance  between  the  Gulf  of 
Persia  and  the  Mediterranean,  was  soon  frequented  by 
the  caravans  which  conveyed  to  the  nations  of  Europe  a 
considerable  part  of  the  rich  commodities  of  India. 
Palmyra  insensibly  increased  into  an  opulent  and  inde- 
pendent city,  and,  connecting  the  Roman  and  the  Parthian 
monarchies  by  the  mutual  benefits  of  commerce,  was 
suffered  to  observe  an  humble  neutrality,  till  at  length, 
after  the  victories  of  Trajan,  the  little  republic  sunk  into 
the  bosom  of  Rome,  and  flourished  more  than  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  in  the  subordinate  though  honorable 
rank  of  a  colony. 

It  was  during  that  peaceful  period,  if  we  may  judge 
from  a  few  remaining  inscriptions,  that  the  wealthy 
Palmy renians  constructed  those  temples,  palaces,  and  por- 
ticos of  Grecian  architecture,  whose  ruins,  scattered  over 
an  extent  of  several  miles,  have  deserved  the  curiosity  of 
our  travelers.  The  elevation  of  Odenathus  and  Zenobia 
appeared  to  reflect  new  splendor  on  their  country,  and 
Palmyra,  for  a  while,  stood  forth  the  rival  of  Rome;  but 
the  competition  was  fatal,  and  ages  of  prosperity  were 
sacrificed  to  a  moment  of  glory. 

In  his  march  over  the  sandy  desert  between  Emesa 
and  Palmyra,  the  emperor  Aurelian  was  perpetually  har- 
assed by  the  Arabs;  nor  could  he  always  defend  his  army, 
and  especially  his  baggage,  from  those  flying  troops  of 
active  and  daring  robbers,  who  watched  the  moment  of 
surprise,  and  eluded  the  slow  pursuit  of  the  legions.  The 
siege  of  Palmyra  was  an  object  far  more  difficult  and 


60  These  Splendid  Women 

important,  and  the  emperor,  who,  with  incessant  vigor, 
pressed  the  attacks  in  person,  was  himself  wounded  with 
a  dart. 

"The  Roman  people,"  says  Aurelian,  in  an  original 
letter,  "speak  with  contempt  of  the  war  which  I  am 
waging  against  a  woman.  They  are  ignorant  both  of  the 
character  and  of  the  power  of  Zenobia.  It  is  impossible 
to  enumerate  her  warlike  preparations,  of  stones,  of 
arrows,  and  of  every  species  of  missile  weapons.  Every 
part  of  the  walls  is  provided  with  two  or  three  halistce, 
and  artificial  fires  are  thrown  from  her  military  engines. 
The  fear  of  punishment  has  armed  her  with  a  desperate 
courage.  Yet  still  I  trust  in  the  protecting  deities  of 
Rome,  who  have  hitherto  been  favorable  to  all  my  under- 
takings." Doubtful,  however,  of  the  protection  of  the 
gods,  and  of  the  event  of  the  siege,  Aurelian  judged  it 
more  prudent  to  offer  terms  of  an  advantageous  capitula- 
tion; to  the  queen,  a  splendid  retreat;  to  the  citizens, 
their  ancient  privileges.  His  proposals  were  obstinately 
rejected,  and  the  refusal  was  accompanied  with  insult. 

The  firmness  of  Zenobia  was  supported  by  the  hope 
that  in  a  very  short  time  famine  would  compel  the  Roman 
army  to  repass  the  desert ;  and  by  the  reasonable  expecta- 
tion that  the  kings  of  the  East,  and  particularly  the  Per- 
sian monarch,  would  arm  in  the  defence  of  their  most 
natural  ally.  But  fortune  and  the  perseverance  of 
Aurelian  overcame  every  obstacle.  The  death  of  Sapor, 
which  happened  about  this  time,  distracted  the  councils 
of  Persia,  and  the  inconsiderable  succors  that  attempted 
,to  relieve  Palmyra  were  easily  intercepted  either  by  the 
arms  or  the  liberality  of  the  emperor.  From  every  part 
of  Syria  a  regular  succession  of  convoys  safely  arrived 
in  the  camp,  which  was  increased  by  the  return  of  Probus 
with  his  victorious  troops  from  the  conquest  of  Egypt. 

It  was  then  that  Zenobia  resolved  to  fly.  She  mounted 
the  fleetest  of  her  dromedaries,  and  had  already  reached 
the  banks   of    the   Euphrates,    about   sixty   miles    from 


These  Splendid  Women  61 

Palmyra,  when  she  was  overtaken  by  the  pursuit  of 
Aurelian's  light  horse,  seized  and  brought  back  a  captive 
to  the  feet  of  the  emperor.  Her  capital  soon  afterwards 
surrendered,  and  was  treated  with  unexpected  lenity. 
The  arms,  horses,  and  camels,  with  an  immense  treasure 
of  gold,  silver,  silk,  and  precious  stones,  were  all  de- 
livered to  the  conqueror,  who,  leaving  only  a  garrison  of 
six  hundred  archers,  returned  to  Emesa,  and  employed 
some  time  in  the  distribution  of  rewards  and  punish- 
ments at  the  end  of  so  memorable  a  war,  which  restored 
to  the  obedience  of  Rome  those  provinces  that  had  re- 
nounced their  allegiance  since  the  captivity  of  Valerian. 

When  the  Syrian  queen  was  brought  into  the  presence 
of  Aurelian,  he  sternly  asked  her.  How  she  had  presumed 
to  rise  in  arms  against  the  emperors  of  Rome?  The 
answer  of  Zenobia  was  a  prudent  mixture  of  respect  and 
firmness. 

"Because  I  disdained  to  consider  as  Roman  emperors 
an  Aureolus  or  a  Gallienus.  You  alone  I  acknowledge 
as  my  conqueror  and  my  sovereign." 

But  as  female  fortitude  is  commonly  artificial,  so  it 
is  seldom  steady  or  consistent.  The  courage  of  Zenobia 
deserted  her  in  the  hour  of  trial;  she  trembled  at  the 
angry  clamors  of  the  soldiers,  who  called  aloud  for  her 
immediate  execution,  forgot  the  generous  despair  of 
Cleopatra,  which  she  had  proposed  as  her  model,  and 
ignominiously  purchased  life  by  the  sacrifice  of  her  fame 
and  her  friends.  It  was  to  their  counsels,  which  governed 
the  weakness  of  her  sex,  that  she  imputed  the  guilt  of 
her  obstinate  resistance;  it  was  on  their  heads  that  she 
directed  the  vengeance  of  the  cruel  Aurelian. 

The  fame  of  Longinus,  who  was  included  among  the 
numerous  and  perhaps  innocent  victims  of  her  fear,  will 
survive  that  of  the  queen  who  betrayed,  or  the  tyrant  who 
condemned  him.  Genius  and  learning  were  incapable 
of  moving  a  fierce  unlettered  soldier,  but  they  had  served 
to  elevate  and  harmonize  the  soul  of  Longinus.    Without 


62  These  Splendid  Women 

a  complaint,  he  calmly  followed  the  executioner,  pitying 
his  unhappy  mistress,  and  bestowing  comfort  on  his 
afflicted  friends. 

Returning  from  the  conquest  of  the  East,  Aurelian 
had  already  crossed  the  Straits  which  divided  Europe 
from  Asia,  when  he  was  provoked  by  the  intelligence 
that  the  Palmyrenians  had  massacred  the  governor  and 
garrison  which  he  had  left  among  them,  and  again  erected 
the  standard  of  revolt.  Without  a  moment's  deliberation, 
he  once  more  turned  his  face  towards  Syria.  Antioch 
was  alarmed  by  his  rapid  approach,  and  the  helpless  city 
of  Palmyra  felt  the  irresistible  weight  of  his  resentment. 
We  have  a  letter  of  Aurelian  himself,  in  which  he  ac- 
knowledges that  old  men,  women,  children,  and  peasants, 
had  been  involved  in  that  dreadful  execution,  which 
should  have  been  confined  to  armed  rebellion;  and  al- 
though his  principal  concern  seems  directed  to  the  re- 
establishments  of  a  temple  of  the  Sun,  he  discovers  some 
pity  for  the  remnant  of  the  Palmyrenians,  to  whom  he 
grants  the  permission  of  rebuilding  and  inhabiting  their 
city.  But  it  is  easier  to  destroy  than  to  restore.  The 
seat  of  commerce,  of  arts,  and  of  Zenobia,  gradually 
sunk  into  an  obscure  town,  a  trifling  fortress,  and  at 
length  a  miserable  village.  The  present  citizens  of 
Palmyra,  consisting  of  thirty  or  forty  families,  have 
erected  their  mud-cottages  within  the  spacious  court  of 
a  magnificent  temple. 

Another  and  a  last  labor  still  awaited  the  indefatigable 
Aurelian;  to  suppress  a  dangerous  though  obscure  rebel, 
who,  during  the  revolt  of  Palmyra,  had  arisen  on  the 
banks  of  the  Nile.  Firmus,  the  friend  and  ally,  as  he 
proudly  styled  himself,  of  Odenathus  and  Zenobia,  was 
no  more  than  a  wealthy  merchant  of  Egypt.  In  the  course 
of  his  trade  to  India  he  had  formed  very  intimate  con- 
nections with  the  Saracens  and  the  Blemmyes,  whose 
situation,  on  either  coast  of  the  Red  Sea,  gave  them  an 
easy  introduction  into  the  Upper  Egypt. 


These  Splendid  Women  63 

The  Egyptians  he  inflamed  with  the  hope  of  freedom, 
and,  at  the  head  of  their  furious  multitude,  broke  into 
the  city  of  Alexandria,  where  he  assumed  the  Imperial 
purple,  coined  money,  published  edicts,  and  raised  an 
army,  which,  as  he  vainly  boasted,  he  was  capable  of 
maintaining  from  the  sole  profits  of  his  paper  trade. 
Such  troops  were  a  feeble  defence  against  the  approach 
of  Aurelian;  and  it  seems  almost  unnecessary  to  relate 
that  Firmus  was  routed,  taken,  tortured,  and  put  to  death. 

Aurelian  might  now  congratulate  the  senate,  the  peo- 
ple, and  himself,  that,  in  little  more  than  three  years,  he 
had  restored  peace  and  order  to  the  Roman  world. 

Since  the  foundation  of  Rome  no  general  had  more 
nobly  deserved  a  triumph  than  Aurelian;  nor  was  a 
triumph  ever  celebrated  with  superior  pride  and  mag- 
nificence. The  pomp  was  opened  by  twenty  elephants, 
four  royal  tigers,  and  above  two  hundred  of  the  most 
curious  animals  from  every  climate  of  the  North,  the 
East,  and  the  South.  They  were  followed  by  sixteen 
hundred  gladiators,  devoted  to  the  cruel  amusement  of 
the  amphitheater.  The  wealth  of  Asia,  the  arms  and  en- 
signs of  so  many  conquered  nations,  and  the  magnificent 
plate  and  wardrobe  of  the  Syrian  queen,  were  disposed 
in  exact  symmetry  or  artful  disorder. 

The  ambassadors  of  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  earth, 
of  Ethiopia,  Arabia,  Persia,  Bactriana,  India,  and  China, 
all  remarkable  by  their  rich  or  singular  dresses,  dis- 
played the  fame  and  power  of  the  Roman  emperor,  who 
exposed  likewise  to  the  public  view  the  presents  that  he 
had  received,  and  particularly  a  great  number  of  crowns 
of  gold,  the  offerings  of  grateful  cities. 

The  victories  of  Aurelian  were  attested  by  the  long 
train  of  captives  who  reluctantly  attended  his  triumph — 
Goths,  Vandals,  Sarmatians,  Alemanni,  Franks,  Gauls, 
Syrians,  and  Egyptians.  Each  people  was  distinguished 
by  its  peculiar  inscription,  and  the  title  of  Amazons  was 
bestowed  on  ten  martial  heroines  of  the  Gothic  nation 


64  These  Splendid  Women 

who  had  been  taken  in  arms.  But  every  eye,  disregard- 
ing the  crowd  of  captives,  was  fixed  on  the  emperor 
Tetricus  and  the  queen  of  the  East.  The  former,  as 
well  as  his  son,  whom  he  had  created  Augustus,  was 
dressed  in  Gallic  trousers,  a  saffron  tunic,  and  a  robe  of 
purple.  The  beauteous  figure  of  Zenobia  was  confined 
by  fetters  of  gold ;  a  slave  supported  the  gold  chain  which 
encircled  her  neck,  and  she  almost  fainted  under  the  in- 
tolerable weight  of  jewels. 

She  preceded  on  foot  the  magnificent  chariot  in  which 
she  once  hoped  to  enter  the  gates  of  Rome.  It  was  fol- 
lowed by  two  other  chariots,  still  more  sumptuous,  of 
Odenathus  and  of  the  Persian  monarch.  The  triumphal 
car  of  Aurelian  (it  had  formerly  been  used  by  a  Gothic 
king)  was  drawn,  on  this  memorable  occasion,  either  by 
four  stags  or  by  four  elephants.  The  most  illustrious 
of  the  senate,  the  people,  and  the  army  closed  the  solemn 
procession.  Joy,  wonder,  and  gratitude  swelled  the  ac- 
clamations of  the  multitude;  but  the  satisfaction  of  the 
senate  was  clouded  by  the  appearance  of  Tetricus ;  nor 
could  they  suppress  a  rising  murmur  that  the  haughty 
emperor  should  thus  expose  to  public  ignominy  the  person 
of  a  Roman  and  a  magistrate. 

But,  however  in  the  treatment  of  his  unfortunate  rivals 
Aurelian  might  indulge  his  pride,  he  behaved  towards 
them  with  a  generous  clemency  which  was  seldom  exer- 
cised by  the  ancient  conquerors.  Princes  who,  without 
success,  had  defended  their  throne  or  freedom,  were 
frequently  strangled  in  prison  as  soon  as  the  triumphal 
pomp  ascended  the  Capitol.  These  usurpers,  whom  their 
defeat  had  convicted  of  the  crime  of  ti^eason,  were 
permitted  to  spend  their  lives  in  affluence  and  honorable 
repose.  The  emperor  presented  Zenobia  with  an  elegant 
villa  at  Tibur  or  Tivoli,  about  twenty  miles  from  the 
capital;  the  Syrian  queen  insensibly  sunk  into  a  Roman 
matron,  her  daughters  married  into  noble  families,  and 
her  race  was  not  yet  extinct  in  the  fifth  century. 


Joan  of  ^rc 

By  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 

WHAT  is  to  be  thought  of  her?  What  is  to  be 
thought  of  the  poor  shepherd  girl  from  the  hills 
and  forests  of  Lorraine,  that — like  the  Hebrew 
shepherd  boy  from  the  hills  and  forests  of  Judea — rose 
suddenly  out  of  the  quiet,  out  of  the  safety,  out  of  the 
religious  inspiration,  rooted  in  deep  pastoral  solitudes,  to 
a  station  in  the  van  of  armies,  and  to  the  more  perilous 
station  at  the  right  hand  of  kings.'  The  Hebrew  boy 
inaugurated  his  patriotic  mission  by  an  act,  by  a  vic- 
torious act,  such  as  no  man  could  deny.  But  so  did  the 
girl  of  Lorraine,  if  we  read  her  story  as  it  was  read  by 
those  who  saw  her  nearest.  Adverse  armies  bore  witness 
to  the  boy  as  no  pretender ;  but  so  they  did  to  the  gentle 
girl.  Judged  by  the  voices  of  all  who  saw  them  jrom  a 
station  of  good  ivill,  both  were  found  true  and  loyal  to 
any  promises  involved  in  their  first  acts.  Enemies  it  was 
that  made  the  difference  between  their  subsequent  for- 
tunes. 

The  boy  rose  to  a  splendor,  and  a  noonday  prosperity, 
both  personal  and  public,  that  rang  through  the  records 
of  his  people,  and  became  a  byword  among  his  posterity 
for  a  thousand  years,  until  the  scepter  was  departing 
from  Judah.  The  poor,  forsaken  girl,  on  the  contrary, 
drank  not  herself  from  that  cup  of  rest  which  she  had 
secured  for  France.  She  never  sang  together  with  the 
songs  that  rose  in  her  native  Domremy  as  echoes  to  the 


66  These  Splendid  Women 

departing  steps  of  invaders.  She  mingled  not  in  the  festal 
dances  of  Vaucouleurs  which  celebrated  in  rapture  the 
redemption  of  France.  No !  for  her  voice  was  then  silent ; 
no !  for  her  feet  were  dust.  Pure,  innocent,  noble-hearted 
girl !  whom,  from  earliest  youth,  ever  I  believed  in  as  full 
of  truth  and  self-sacrifice,  this  was  amongst  the  strongest 
pledges  for  thy  truth,  that  never  once — no,  not  for  a  mo- 
ment of  weakness — didst  thou  revel  in  the  vision  of 
coronets  and  honor  from  man.  Coronets  for  thee!  Oh, 
no !  Honors,  if  they  come  when  all  is  over,  are  for  those 
that  share  thy  blood.  Daughter  of  Domremy,  when  the 
gratitude  of  thy  king  shall  awaken,  thou  wilt  be  sleeping 
the  sleep  of  the  dead.  Call  her.  King  of  France,  but  she 
will  not  hear  thee.  Cite  her  by  the  apparitors  to  come 
and  receive  a  robe  of  honor,  but  she  will  be  found  en 
contumace.  When  the  thunders  of  universal  France, 
as  even  yet  may  happen,  shall  proclaim  the  grandeur  of 
the  poof  shepherd  girl  that  gave  up  all  for  her  country, 
thy  ear,  young  shepherd  girl,  will  have  been  deaf  for 
five  centuries.  To  suffer  and  to  do,  that  was  thy  portion 
in  this  life;  that  was  thy  destiny;  and  not  for  a  moment 
was  it  hidden  from  thyself. 

Life,  thou  saidst,  is  short;  and  the  sleep  which  is  in  the 
grave  is  long ;  let  me  use  that  life,  so  transitory,  for  the 
glory  of  those  heavenly  dreams  destined  to  comfort 
the  sleep  which  is  so  long!  This  pure  creature — pure 
from  every  suspicion  of  even  a  visionary  self-interest,  even 
as  she  was  pure  in  senses  more  obvious — never  once  did 
this  holy  child,  as  regarded  herself,  relax  from  her  belief 
in  the  darkness  that  was  traveling  to  meet  her.  She 
might  not  prefigure  the  very  manner  of  her  death;  she 
saw  not  in  vision,  perhaps,  the  aerial  altitude  of  the  fiery 
scaffold,  the  spectators  without  end,  on  every  road,  pour- 
ing into  Rouen  as  to  a  coronation,  the  surging  smoke, 
the  volleying  flames,  the  hostile  faces  all  around,  the  pity- 
ing eye  that  lurked  but  here  and  there,  until  nature  and 
imperishable  truth  broke  loose  from  artificial  restraints — 


These  Splendid  Women  67 

these  might  not  be  apparent  through  the  mists  of  the 
hurrying  future.  But  the  voice  that  called  her  to  death, 
that  she  heard  for  ever. 

Great  was  the  throne  of  France  even  in  those  days, 
and  great  was  he  that  sat  upon  it;  but  well  Joanna  knew 
that  not  the  throne,  nor  he  that  sat  upon  it,  was  for  her; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  that  she  was  for  thew,;  not  she  by 
them,  but  they  by  her,  should  rise  from  the  dust.  Gor- 
geous were  the  lilies  of  France,  and  for  centuries  had  the 
privilege  to  spread  their  beauty  over  land  and  sea,  until, 
in  another  century,  the  wrath  of  God  and  man  combined 
to  wither  them;  but  well  Joanna  knew,  early  at  Dom- 
remy  she  had  read  that  bitter  truth,  that  the  lilies  of 
France  would  decorate  no  garland  for  her.  Flower  nor 
bud,  bell  nor  blossom,  would  ever  bloom  for  her!   *    *   * 

But  stay.  What  reason  is  there  taking  up  this  sub- 
ject of  Joanna  precisely  in  the  spring  of  1847?  Might 
it  not  have  been  left  till  the  spring  of  1947,  or,  perhaps, 
left  till  called  for  ?,  Yes,  but  it  is  called  for,  and  clamor- 
ously. You  are  aware,  reader,  that  amongst  the  many 
original  thinkers  whom  modern  France  has  produced, 
one  of  the  reputed  leaders  is  M.  Michelet.  All  these 
writers  are  of  a  revolutionary  cast;  not  in  a  political 
sense  merely,  but  in  all  senses;  mad,  oftentimes,  as  March 
hares;  crazy  with  the  laughing  gas  of  recovered  liberty; 
drunk  with  the  wine  cup  of  their  mighty  Revolution, 
snorting,  whinnying,  throwing  up  their  heels,  like  wild 
horses  in  the  boundless  pampas,  and  running  races  of 
defiance  with  snipes,  or  with  the  winds,  or  with  their 
own  shadows,  if  they  can  find  nothing  else  to  challenge. 

Some  time  or  other,  I,  that  have  leisure  to  read,  may 
introduce  you,  that  have  not,  to  two  or  three  dozen  of 
these  writers ;  of  whom  I  can  assure  you  beforehand  that 
they  are  often  profound,  and  at  intervals  are  even  as 
impassioned  as  if  they  were  come  of  our  best  English 
blood.  But  now,  confining  our  attention  to  M.  Michelet, 
we  in  England — who  know  him  best  by  his  worst  book, 


68  These  Splendid  Wo?nen 

the  book  against  priests,  etc. — know  him  disadvanta- 
geously. 

That  book  is  a  rhapsody  of  incoherence.  But  his 
"History  of  France"  is  quite  another  thing.  A  man, 
in  whatsoever  craft  he  sails,  cannot  stretch  away  out  of 
sight  when  he  is  linked  to  the  windings  of  the  shore  by 
towing-ropes  of  History.  Facts,  and  the  consequences 
of  facts,  draw  the  writer  back  to  the  falconer's  lure  from 
the  giddiest  heights  of  speculation.  Here,  therefore — 
in  his  "France" — if  not  always  free  from  flightiness,  if 
now  and  then  off  like  a  rocket  for  an  airy  wheel  in  the 
clouds,  M.  Michelet,  with  natural  politeness,  never  for- 
gets that  he  has  left  a  large  audience  waiting  for  him  on 
earth,  and  gazing  upward  in  anxiety  for  his  return;  re- 
turn, therefore,  he  does. 

But  History,  though  clear  of  certain  temptations  in  one 
direction,  has  separate  dangers  of  its  own.  It  is  im- 
possible so  to  write  a  history  of  France,  or  of  England — 
works  becoming  every  hour  more  indispensable  to  the 
inevitably  political  man  of  this  day — without  perilous 
openings  for  error.  If  I,  for  instance,  on  the  part  of 
England,  should  happen  to  turn  my  labors  into  that  chan- 
nel, and  (on  the  model  of  Lord  Percy  going  to  Chevy 
Chase) 

"A  vow  to   God   should   make 

My    pleasure    in    the    Michelet    woods 
Three    summer   days   to   take," 

probably,  from  simple  delirium,  I  might  hunt  M.  Michelet 
into  delirium  tremens.  Two  strong  angels  stand  by  the 
side  of  History,  whether  French  history  or  English,  as 
heraldic  supporters :  the  angel  of  research  on  the  left 
hand,  that  must  read  millions  of  dusty  parchments,  and 
of  pages  blotted  with  lies ;  the  angel  of  meditation  on 
the  right  hand,  that  must  cleanse  these  lying  records  with 
fire,  even  as  of  old  the  draperies  of  asbestos  were 
cleansed,  and  must  quicken  them  into  regenerated  life. 
Willingly  I  acknowledge  that  no  man  will  ever  avoid  in- 


These  Splendid  Women  69 

numerable  errors  of  detail;  with  so  vast  a  compass  of 
ground  to  traverse,  this  is  impossible;  but  such  errors 
(though  I  have  a  bushel  on  hand,  at  M.  Michelet's  ser- 
vice) are  not  the  game  I  chase;  it  is  the  bitter  and  un- 
fair spirit  in  which  M.  Michelet  writes  against  England. 
Even  that,  after  all,  is  but  my  secondary  object;  the  real 
one  is  Joanna  the  Pucelle  d'Orleans  herself. 

I  am  not  going  to  write  the  history  of  La  Pucelle:  to 
do  this,  or  even  circumstantially  to  report  the  history  of 
her  persecution  and  bitter  death,  of  her  struggle  with 
false  witnesses  and  with  ensnaring  judges,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  have  before  us  all  the  documents,  and  there- 
fore the  collection  only  now  forthcoming  in  Paris.  But 
my  purpose  is  narrower.  There  have  been  great  thinkers, 
disdaining  the  careless  judgments  of  contemporaries,  who 
have  thrown  themselves  boldly  on  the  judgment  of  a  far 
posterity,  that  should  have  had  time  to  review,  to  ponder, 
to  compare.  There  have  been  great  actors  on  the  stage 
of  tragic  humanity  that  might,  with  the  same  depth  of 
confidence,  have  appealed  from  the  levity  of  compatriot 
friends — too  heartless  for  the  sublime  interest  of  their 
story,  and  too  impatient  for  the  labour  of  sifting  its  per- 
plexities— to  the  magnanimity  and  justice  of  enemies. 
To  this  class  belongs  the  Maid  of  Arc.  The  ancient 
Romans  were  too  faithful  to  the  ideal  of  grandeur  in 
themselves  not  to  relent,  after  a  generation  or  two,  before 
the  grandeur  of  Hannibal.  Mithridates,  a  more  doubt- 
ful person,  yet,  merely  for  the  magic  perseverance  of  his 
indomitable  malice,  won  from  the  same  Romans  the  only 
real  honour  that  ever  he  received  on  earth.  And  we 
English  have  ever  shown  the  same  homage  to  stubborn 
enmity.  To  work  unflinchingly  for  the  ruin  of  England ; 
to  say  through  life,  by  word  and  by  deed,  Delenda  est 
Anglia  Victrixl — that  one  purpose  of  malice,  faithfully 
pursued,  has  quartered  some  people  upon  our  national 
funds  of  homage  as  by  a  perpetual  annuity.  Better  than 
an  inheritance  of  service  rendered  to  England  herself  has 


70  These  Splendid  Women 

sometimes  proved  the  most  insane  hatred  to  England. 
Hyder  Ali,  even  his  son  Tippoo,  though  so  far  inferior, 
and  Napoleon,  have  all  benefitted  by  this  disposition 
among  ourselves  to  exaggerate  the  merit  of  diabolic 
enmity. 

Not  one  of  these  men  was  ever  capable,  in  a  solitary  in- 
stance, of  praising  an  enemy  (what  do  you  say  to  that, 
reader?)  ;  and  yet  in  their  behalf,  we  consent  to  forget, 
not  their  crimes  only,  but  (which  is  worse)  their  hideous 
bigotry  and  anti-magnanimous  egotism — for  nationality 
it  was  not.  Suffren,  and  some  half  dozen  of  other  French 
nautical  heroes,  because  rightly  they  did  us  all  the  mischief 
they  could  (which  was  really  great),  are  names  justly 
reverenced  in  England.  On  the  same  principle.  La 
Pucelle  d'Orleans,  the  victorious  enemy  of  England,  has 
been  destined  to  receive  her  deepest  commemoration  from 
the  magnanimous  justice  of  Englishmen. 

Joanna,  as  we  in  England  should  call  her,  but  ac- 
cording to  her  own  statement,  Jeanne  (or,  as  M.  Michelet 
asserts,  Jean)  D'Arc  was  born  at  Domremy,  a  village  on 
the  marches  of  Lorraine  and  Champagne,  and  dependent 
upon  the  town  of  Vaucouleurs.  I  have  called  her  a  Lor- 
rainer,  not  simply  because  the  word  is  prettier,  but  be- 
cause Champagne  too  odiously  reminds  us  English  of 
what  are  for  us  imaginary  wines — which,  undoubtedly. 
La  Pucelle  tasted  as  rarely  as  we  English:  we  English, 
because  the  champagne  of  London  is  chiefly  grown  in 
Devonshire ;  La  Pucelle,  because  the  champagne  of  Cham- 
pagne never,  by  any  chance,  flowed  into  the  fountain  of 
Domremy,  from  which  only  she  drank.  M.  Michelet 
will  have  her  to  be  a  Champenoise,  and  for  no  better 
reason  than  that  she  "took  after  her  father,"  who  hap- 
pened to  be  a  CJiampanois. 

These  disputes,  however,  turn  on  refinements  too 
nice.  Domremy  stood  upon  the  frontiers,  and,  like  other 
frontiers,  produced  a  mixed  race,  representing  the  cis 
and  the  trans.    A  river  (it  is  true)  formed  the  boundary 


These  Splendid  Wo??ien  71 

line  at  this  point — the  river  Meuse;  and  tlmt,  in  old 
days,  might  have  divided  the  populations;  but  in  these 
days  it  did  not;  there  were  bridges,  there  were  ferries, 
and  weddings  crossed  from  the  right  bank  to  the  left. 
Here  lay  two  great  roads,  not  so  much  for  travellers 
that  were  few,  as  for  armies  that  were  too  many  by  half. 

These  two  roads,  one  of  which  was  the  great  high- 
road between  France  and  Germany,  decussated  at  this 
very  point;  which  is  a  learned  way  of  saying  that  they 
formed  a  St.  Andrew's  Cross,  or  letter  X.  I  hope  the 
compositor  will  choose  a  good  large  X;  in  which  case 
the  point  of  intersection,  the  locus  of  conflux  and  inter- 
section for  these  four  diverging  arms,  will  finish  the 
reader's  geographical  education,  by  showing  him  to  a 
hair's-breadth  where  it  was  that  Domremy  stood.  These 
roads,  so  grandly  situated,  as  great  trunk  arteries  be- 
tween two  mighty  realms,  and  haunted  for  ever  by 
wars  or  rumors  of  wars,  decussated  ( for  anything  I  know 
to  the  contrary)  absolutely  under  Joanna's  bedroom  win- 
dow; one  rolling  away  to  the  right,  past  M.  D'Arc's 
old  barn,  and  the  other  unaccountably  preferring  to 
sweep  round  that  odious  man's  pig-sty  to  the  left. 

On  whichever  side  of  the  border  chance  had  thrown 
Joanna,  the  same  love  to  France  would  have  been  nur- 
tured. For  it  is  a  strange  fact,  noticed  by  M.  Michelet  and 
others,  that  the  Dukes  of  Bar  and  Lorraine  had  for  gener- 
ations pursued  the  policy  of  eternal  warfare  with  France 
on  their  own  account,  yet  also  of  eternal  amity  and  league 
with  France  in  case  anybody  else  presumed  to  attack  her. 
Let  peace  settle  upon  France,  and  before  long  you  might 
rely  upon  seeing  the  little  vixen  Lorraine  flying  at  the 
throat  of  France.  Let  France  be  assailed  by  a  formidable 
enemy,  and  instantly  you  saw  a  Duke  of  Lorraine  insist- 
ing on  having  his  own  throat  cut  in  support  of  France; 
which  favour  accordingly  was  cheerfully  granted  to  him 
in  three  great  successive  battles:  twice  by  the  English, 


72  These  Splendid  Women 

viz.,  at  Crecy  and  Agincourt,  once  by  the  Sultan  at 
Nicopolis. 

This  sympathy  with  France  during  great  ecHpses,  in 
those  that  during  ordinary  seasons  were  always  teasing 
her  with  brawls  and  guerilla  inroads,  strengthened  the 
natural  piety  to  France  of  those  that  were  confessedly  the 
children  of  her  own  house.  The  outposts  of  France,  as 
one  may  call  the  great  frontier  provinces,  were  of  all 
localities  the  most  devoted  to  the  Fleurs  de  Lys.  To 
witness,  at  any  great  crisis,  the  generous  devotion  to  these 
lilies  of  the  little  fiery  cousin  that  in  gentler  weather  was 
forever  tilting  at  the  breast  of  France,  could  not  but  fan 
the  zeal  of  France's  legitimate  daughters ;  while  to  occupy 
a  post  of  honour  on  the  frontiers  against  an  old  hereditary 
enemy  of  France  would  naturally  stimulate  this  zeal  by  a 
sentiment  of  martial  pride,  by  a  sense  of  danger  always 
threatening,  and  of  hatred  always  smouldering.  That 
great  four-headed  road  was  perpetual  memento  to  patri- 
otic ardour.  To  say  "This  way  lies  the  road  to  Paris, 
and  that  other  way  to  Aix-la-Chapelle ;  this  to  Prague, 
that  to  Vienna,"  nourished  the  warfare  of  the  heart  by 
daily  ministrations  of  sense.  The  eye  that  watched  for 
the  gleams  of  lance  or  helmet  from  the  hostile  frontier, 
the  ear  that  listened  for  the  groaning  of  wheels,  made  the 
highroad  itself,  with  its  relations  to  centres  so  remote,  into 
a  manual  of  patriotic  duty. 

The  situation,  therefore,  locally,  of  Joanna  was  full 
of  profound  suggestions  to  a  heart  that  listened  for  the 
stealthy  steps  of  change  and  fear  that  too  surely  were 
in  motion.  But,  if  the  place  were  grand,  the  time,  the 
burden  of  the  time,  was  far  more  so.  The  air  overhead 
in  its  upper  chambers  was  hurtling  with  the  obscure 
sound;  was  dark  with  sullen  fermenting  of  storms  that 
had  been  gathering  for  a  hundred  and  thirty  years.  The 
battle  of  Agincourt  in  Joanna's  childhood  had  reopened 
the  wounds  of  France.  Crecy  and  Poictiers,  those  with- 
ering overthrows  for  the  chivalry  of  France,  had,  before 


These  Splendid  Women  73 

Agincourt  occurred,  been  tranquillised  by  more  than  half 
a  century;  but  this  resurrection  of  their  trumpet  wails 
made  the  whole  series  of  battles  and  endless  skirmishes 
take  their  stations  as  parts  in  one  drama.  The  graves 
that  had  closed  sixty  years  ago  seemed  to  fly  open  in 
sympathy  with  a  sorrow  that  echoed  their  own.  The 
monarchy  of  France  laboured  in  extremity,  rocked  and 
reeled  like  a  ship  fighting  with  the  darkness  of  monsoons. 

The  madness  of  the  king  (Charles  VI.),  faUing  in  at 
such  a  crisis,  like  the  case  of  women  laboring  in  child- 
birth during  the  storming  of  a  city,  trebled  the  awfulness 
of  the  time.  Even  the  wild  story  of  the  incident  which 
had  immediately  occasioned  the  explosion  of  this  madness 
— the  case  of  a  man  unknown,  gloomy,  and  perhaps 
maniacal  himself,  coming  out  of  a  forest  at  noonday, 
laying  his  hand  upon  the  bridle  of  the  king's  horse,  check- 
ing him  for  a  moment  to  say,  "Oh,  king,  thou  art  be- 
trayed," and  then  vanishing,  no  man  knew  whither,  as 
he  had  appeared  for  no  man  knew  what — fell  in  with  the 
universal  prostration  of  mind  that  laid  France  on  her 
knees,  as  before  the  slow  unweaving  of  some  ancient 
prophetic  doom. 

The  famines,  the  extraordinary  diseases,  the  insur- 
rections of  the  peasantry  up  and  down  Europe — these 
were  chords  struck  from  the  same  mysterious  harp;  but 
these  were  transitory  chords.  There  had  been  others  of 
deeper  and  more  ominous  sound.  The  termination  of  the 
Crusades,  the  destruction  of  the  Templars,  the  Papal  inter- 
dicts, the  tragedies  caused  or  suflfered  by  the  house  of 
Anjou,  and  by  the  Emperor — these  were  full  of  a  more 
permanent  significance.  But,  since  then,  the  colossal 
figure  of  feudalism  was  seen  standing,  as  it  were  on 
tiptoe,  at  Crecy,  for  flight  from  earth:  that  was  a  revo- 
lution unparalleled;  yet  that  was  a  trifle  by  comparison 
with  the  more  fearful  revolutions  that  were  mining  below 
the  Church.  By  her  own  internal  schisms,  by  the  abomi- 
nable   spectacle    of    a    double    Pope — so    that    no    man, 


74  These  Splendid  Women 

except  through  political  bias,  could  even  guess  which  was 
Heaven's  vicegerent,  and  which  the  creature  of  Hell — 
the  Church  was  rehearsing,  as  in  still  earlier  forms  she 
had  already  rehearsed,  those  vast  rents  in  her  founda- 
tions which  no  man  should  ever  heal. 

These  were  the  loftiest  peaks  of  the  cloudland  in  the 
skies  that  to  the  scientific  gazer  first  caught  the  colours 
of  the  new  morning  in  advance.  But  the  whole  vast 
range  alike  of  sweeping  glooms  overhead  dwelt  upon  all 
meditative  minds,  even  upon  those  that  could  not  dis- 
tinguish the  tendencies  nor  decipher  the  forms.  It  was 
therefore,  not  her  own  age  alone,  as  affected  by  its 
immediate  calamities,  that  lay  with  such  weight  upon 
Joanna's  mind,  but  her  own  age  as  one  section  in  a  vast 
mysterious  drama,  unweaving  through  a  century  back,  and 
drawing  nearer  continually  to  some  dreadful  crisis.  Cat- 
aracts and  rapids  were  heard  roaring  ahead;  and  signs 
were  seen  far  back,  by  help  of  old  men's  memories,  which 
answered  secretly  to  signs  now  coming  forward  on  the 
eye,  even  as  locks  answer  to  keys.  It  was  not  wonderful 
that  in  such  a  haunted  solitude,  with  such  a  haunted 
heart,  Joanna  could  see  angelic  visions,  and  hear  angelic 
voices.  These  voices  whispered  to  her  for  ever  the  duty 
self-imposed  of  delivering  France.  Five  years  she  lis- 
tened to  these  monitory  voices  with  internal  struggles. 
At  length  she  could  resist  no  longer.  Doubt  gave  way; 
and  she  left  her  home  for  ever  in  order  to  present  herself 
at  the  dauphin's  court. 

The  education  of  this  poor  girl  was  mean  according 
to  the  present  standard:  was  ineffably  grand,  according 
to  a  purer  philosophic  standard:  and  only  not  good  for 
our  age  because  for  us  it  would  be  unattainable.  She 
read  nothing,  for  she  could  not  read;  but  she  had  heard 
others  read  parts  of  the  Roman  martyrology.  She  wept 
in  sympathy  with  the  sad  "Misereres'*  of  the  Romish 
Church ;  she  rose  to  heaven  with  the  glad  triumphant  *'Te 
Deums"  of  Rome;  she  drew  her  comfort  and  her  vital 


These  Splendid  Women  IS 

strength  from  the  rites  of  the  same  Church.  But,  next 
after  these  spiritual  advantages,  she  owed  most  to  the 
advantages  of  her  situation.  The  fountain  of  Domremy 
was  on  the  brink  of  a  boundless  forest ;  and  it  was  haunted 
to  that  degree  by  fairies  that  the  parish  priest  {cure)  was 
obliged  to  read  mass  there  once  a  year,  in  order  to  keep 
them  in  any  decent  bounds.  Fairies  are  important,  even 
in  a  statistical  view:  certain  weeds  mark  poverty  in  the 
soil,  fairies  mark  its  solitude.  As  surely  as  the  wolf  re- 
tires before  cities  does  the  fairy  sequester  herself  from 
the  haunts  of  the  licensed  victualer.  A  village  is  too 
much  for  her  nervous  delicacy;  at  most,  she  can  tolerate 
a  distant  view  of  a  hamlet.  We  may  judge,  therefore, 
by  the  uneasiness  and  extra  trouble  which  they  gave  to 
the  parson,  in  what  strength  the  fairies  mustered  at  Dom- 
remy, and,  by  a  satisfactory  consequence,  how  thinly  sown 
with  men  and  women  must  have  been  that  region  even  in 
its  inhabited  spots.  But  the  forests  of  Domremy — those 
were  the  glories  of  the  land:  for  in  them  abode  mys- 
terious powers  and  ancient  secrets  that  towered  into  tragic 
strength.  "Abbeys  there  were,  and  abbey  windows" — 
"like  Moorish  temples  of  the  Hindoos" — that  exercised 
even  princely  power  both  in  Lorraine  and  in  the  German 
Diets. 

These  had  their  sweet  bells  that  pierced  the  forests  for 
many  a  league  of  matins  or  vespers,  and  each  its  own 
dreamy  legend.  Few  enough,  and  scattered  enough, 
were  these  abbeys,  so  as  in  no  degree  to  disturb  the  deep 
solitude  of  the  region ;  yet  many  enough  to  spread  a  net- 
work or  awning  of  Christian  sanctity  over  what  else  might 
have  seemed  a  heathen  wilderness.  This  sort  of  religious 
talisman  being  secured,  a  man  the  most  afraid  of  ghosts 
(like  myself,  suppose,  or  the  reader)  becomes  armed  into 
courage  to  wander  for  days  in  their  sylvan  recesses.  The 
mountains  of  the  Vosges,  on  the  eastern  frontier  of 
France,  have  never  attracted  much  notice  from  Europe, 
except  in  1813-14  for  a  few  brief  months,  when  they  fell 


76  These  Splendid  Women 

within  Napoleon's  line  of  defence  against  the  Allies.  But 
they  are  interesting  for  this  among  other  features,  that 
they  do  not,  like  some  loftier  ranges,  repel  woods;  the 
forests  and  the  hills  are  on  sociable  terms.  **Live  and  let 
live"  is  their  motto. 

For  this  reason,  in  part,  these  tracts  in  Lorraine  were 
a  favorite  hunting-ground  with  the  Carlovingian  princes. 
About  six  hundred  years  before  Joanna's  childhood, 
Charlemagne  was  known  to  have  hunted  there.  That,  of 
itself,  was  a  grand  incident  in  the  traditions  of  a  forest 
or  a  chase.  In  these  vast  forests,  also,  were  to  be  found 
(if  anywhere  to  be  found)  those  mysterious  fawns  that 
tempted  solitary  hunters  into  visionary  and  perilous  pur- 
suits. Here  was  seen  (if  anywhere  seen)  that  ancient 
stag  who  was  already  nine  hundred  years  old,  but  pos- 
sibly a  hundred  or  two  more,  when  met  by  Charlemagne ; 
and  the  thing  was  put  beyond  doubt  by  the  inscription 
upon  his  golden  collar. 

I  believe  Charlemagne  knighted  the  stag ;  and,  if  ever  he 
is  met  again  by  a  king,  he  ought  to  be  made  an  earl,  or, 
being  upon  the  marches  of  France,  a  marquis.  Observe, 
I  don't  absolutely  vouch  for  all  these  things:  my  own 
opinion  varies.  On  a  fine  breezy  forenoon  I  am  auda- 
ciously sceptical;  but  as  twilight  sets  in  my  credulity 
grows  steadily,  till  it  becomes  equal  to  anything  that  could 
be  desired.  And  I  have  heard  candid  sportsmen  declare 
that,  outside  of  these  very  forests,  they  laughed  loudly  at 
all  the  dim  tales  connected  with  their  haunted  solitudes, 
but,  on  reaching  a  spot  notoriously  eighteen  miles  deep 
within  them,  they  agreed  with  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  that 
a  good  deal  might  be  said  on  both  sides. 

Such  traditions,  or  any  others  that  (like  the  stag) 
connect  distant  generations  with  each  other,  are,  for  that 
cause,  sublime;  and  the  sense  of  the  shadowy,  connected 
with  such  appearances  that  reveal  themselves  or  not  ac- 
cording to  circumstances,  leaves  a  colouring  of  sanctity 


These  Splendid  Women  11 

over  ancient  forests,  even  in  those  minds  that  utterly 
reject  the  legend  as  a  fact. 

But,  apart  from  all  distinct  stories  of  that  order,  in 
any  solitary  frontier  between  two  great  empires — as  here, 
for  instance,  or  in  the  desert  between  Syria  and  the  Eu- 
phrates— there  is  an  inevitable  tendency,  in  minds  of 
any  deep  sensibility,  to  people  the  solitudes  with  phantom 
images  of  powers  that  were  of  old  so  vast.  Joanna, 
therefore,  in  her  quiet  occupation  of  a  shepherdess,  would 
be  led  continually  to  brood  over  the  political  condition  of 
her  country  by  the  traditions  of  the  past  no  less  than  by 
the  mementoes  of  the  local  present. 

IMichelet,  indeed,  says  that  La  Pucelle  was  not  a 
shepherdess.  I  beg  his  pardon ;  she  wa^s.  What  he  rests 
upon  I  can  guess  pretty  well :  it  is  the  evidence  of  a  woman 
called  Haumette,  the  most  confidential  friend  of  Joanna. 
Now,  she  is  a  good  witness,  and  a  good  girl,  and  I  like 
her;  for  she  makes  a  natural  and  affectionate  report  of 
Joanna's  ordinary  life.  But  still,  however  good  she  may 
be  as  a  witness,  Joanna  is  better ;  and  she,  when  speaking 
to  the  dauphin,  calls  herself  in  the  Latin  report  Bergereta. 
Even  Haumette  confesses  that  Joanna  tended  sheep  in  her 
girlhood.  And  I  believe  that,  if  Miss  Haumette  were 
taking  coffee  along  with  me  this  very  evening  (February 
12,  1847) — in  which  there  would  be  no  subject  for 
scandal  or  for  maiden  blushes,  because  I  am  an  intense 
philosopher,  and  Miss  H.  would  be  hard  upon  450  years 
old — she  would  admit  the  following  comment  upon  her 
evidence  to  be  right.  A  Frenchman,  about  forty  years 
ago — M.  Simond,  in  his  ''Travels" — mentions  accidentally 
the  following  hideous  scene  as  one  steadily  observed  and 
watched  by  himself  in  chivalrous  France  not  very  long 
before  the  French  Revolution  :  A  peasant  was  ploughing  ; 
and  the  team  that  drew  his  plough  was  a  donkey  and  a 
woman.  Both  were  regularly  harnessed;  both  pulled 
alike.  This  is  bad  enough ;  but  the  Frenchman  adds  that, 
in  distributing  his  lashes,  the  peasant  was  obviously  de- 


78  These  Splendid  Women 

sirous  of  being  impartial ;  or,  if  either  of  the  yoke  fellows 
had  a  right  to  complain,  certainly  it  was  not  the  donkey. 
Now,  in  any  country  where  such  degradation  of  females 
could  be  tolerated  by  the  state  of  manners,  a  woman  of 
delicacy  would  shrink  from  acknowledging  either  for  her- 
self or  her  friend,  that  she  had  ever  been  addicted  to 
any  mode  of  labor  not  strictly  domestic ;  because,  if  once 
owning  herself  a  praedial  servant,  she  would  be  sensible 
that  this  confession  extended  by  probability  in  the  hear- 
er's thoughts  to  the  having  incurred  indignities  of  this 
horrible  kind.  Haumette  clearly  thinks  it  more  dignified 
for  Joanna  to  have  been  darning  the  stockings  of  her 
horny-hoofed  father,  M.  D'Arc,  than  keeping  sheep,  lest 
she  might  then  be  suspected  of  having  ever  done  some- 
thing worse.  But,  luckily,  there  was  no  danger  of  that; 
Joanna  never  was  in  service;  and  my  opinion  is  that  her 
father  should  have  mended  his  own  stockings,  since  prob- 
ably he  was  the  party  to  make  the  holes  in  them,  as  many 
a  better  man  than  D'Arc  does — meaning  by  that  not  my- 
self, because,  though  probably  a  better  man  than  D'Arc, 
I  protest  against  doing  anything  of  the  kind.  If  I  lived 
even  with  Friday  in  Juan  Fernandez,  either  Friday  must 
do  all  the  darning,  or  else  it  must  go  undone.  The  better 
men  that  I  meant  were  the  sailors  in  the  British  navy, 
every  man  of  whom  mends  his  own  stockings.  Who  else 
is  to  do  it?  Do  you  suppose,  reader,  that  the  junior  lords 
of  the  admiralty  are  under  articles  to  darn  for  the  navy? 

It  is  probable  (as  M.  Michelet  suggests)  that  the  title 
of  Virgin  or  Pucelle  had  in  itself,  and  apart  from  the 
miraculous  stories  about  her,  a  secret  power  over  the  rude 
soldiery  and  partisan  chiefs  of  that  period;  for  in  such 
a  person  they  saw  a  representative  manifestation  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  who,  in  the  course  of  centuries,  had  grown 
steadily  upon  the  popular  heart. 

As  to  Joanna's  supernatural  detection  of  the  dauphin 
(Charles  VII.)  among  three  hundred  lords  and  knights, 
I  am  surprised  at  the  credulity  which  could  ever  lend 


These  Splendid  Women  79 

itself  to  that  theatrical  juggle.  Who  admires  more  than 
myself  the  sublime  enthusiasm,  the  rapturous  faith  in  her- 
self, of  this  pure  creature?  But  I  am  far  from  admiring 
stage  artifices  which  not  La  Pucelle,  but  the  court,  must 
have  arranged;  nor  can  surrender  myself  to  the  con- 
jurer's legerdemain,  such  as  may  be  seen  every  day  for  a 
shilling.  Southey's  '']o^rv  of  Arc"  was  published  in  1796. 
Twenty  years  after,  talking  with  Southey,  I  was  surprised 
to  find  him  still  owning  a  secret  bias  in  favour  of  Joan, 
founded  on  her  detection  of  the  dauphin.  The  story,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  reader  new  to  the  case,  was  this:  La 
Pucelle  was  first  made  known  to  the  dauphin,  and  pre- 
sented to  his  court,  at  Chinon;  and  here  came  her  first 
trial.  By  way  of  testing  her  supernatural  pretensions, 
she  was  to  find  out  the  royal  personage  amongst  the  whole 
ark  of  clean  and  unclean  creatures.  Failing  in  this  coup 
d'essai,  she  would  not  simply  disappoint  many  a  beating 
heart  in  the  glittering  crowd  that  on  different  motives 
yearned  for  her  success,  but  she  would  ruin  herself,  and, 
as  the  oracle  within  had  told  her,  would,  by  ruining  her- 
self, ruin  France.  Our  own  Sovereign  Lady  Victoria 
rehearses  annually  a  trial  not  so  severe  in  degree,  but  the 
same  in  kind.  She  "pricks"  for  sheriflFs.  Joanna  pricked 
for  a  king.  But  observe  the  difference:  our  own  Lady 
pricks  for  two  men  out  of  three;  Joanna  for  one  man 
out  of  three  hundred. 

Happy  Lady  of  the  Islands  and  the  Orient! — she  can 
go  astray  in  her  choice  only  by  one-half :  to  the  extent 
of  one-half  she  must  have  the  satisfaction  of  being  right. 
And  yet,  even  with  these  tight  limits  to  the  misery  of 
a  boundless  discretion,  permit  me,  Liege  Lady,  with  all 
loyalty,  to  submit  that  now  and  then  you  prick  with  your 
pin  the  wrong  man. 

But  the  poor  child  from  Domremy,  shrinking  under 
the  gaze  of  a  dazzling  court — not  because  dazzling  (for 
in  visions  she  had  seen  those  that  were  more  so),  but 
because  some  of  them  wore  a  scoffing  smile  on  their 


80  These  Splendid  Women 

features — how  should  she  throw  her  line  into  so  deep  a 
river  to  angle  for  a  king,  where  many  a  gay  creature  was 
sporting  that  masqueraded  as  kings  in  dress !  Nay,  even 
more  than  any  true  king  would  have  done:  for,  in 
Southey's  version  of  the  story,  the  dauphin  says,  by  way 
of  trying  the  virgin's  magnetic  sympathy  with  royalty, 

"On    the    throne, 
I  the  while  minghng  with  the  menial  throng, 
Some  courtier  shall  be  seated." 

This  usurper  is  even  crowned;  **the  jeweled  crown 
shines  on  a  menial's  head."  But,  really,  that  is  ''un  pen 
forf;  and  the  mob  of  spectators  might  raise  a  scruple 
whether  our  friend  the  jackdaw  upon  the  throne,  and  the 
dauphin  himself,  were  not  grazing  the  shins  of  treason. 
For  the  dauphin  could  not  lend  more  than  belonged  to 
him.  According  to  the  popular  notion,  he  had  no  crown 
for  himself;  consequently  none  to  lend,  on  any  pretence 
whatever,  until  the  consecrated  Maid  should  take  him  to 
Rheims.  This  was  the  popular  notion  in  France.  But 
certainly  it  was  the  dauphin's  interest  to  support  the 
popular  notion,  as  he  meant  to  use  the  services  of  Joanna. 
For  if  he  were  king  already,  what  was  it  that  she  could 
do  for  him  beyond  Orleans? 

That  is  to  say,  what  more  than  a  merely  military  serv- 
ice could  she  render  him?  And,  above  all,  if  he  were 
king  without  a  coronation,  and  without  the  oil  from  the 
sacred  ampulla,  what  advantage  was  yet  open  to  him  by 
celerity  above  his  competitor,  the  English  boy?  Now 
was  to  be  a  race  for  a  coronation :  he  that  should  win  that 
race  carried  the  superstition  of  France  along  with  him : 
he  that  should  first  be  drawn  from  the  ovens  of  Rheims 
was  under  that  superstition  baked  into  a  king. 

La  Pucelle,  before  she  could  be  allowed  to  practice  as 
a  warrior,  was  put  through  her  manual  and  platoon  exer- 
cise, as  a  pupil  in  divinity,  at  the  bar  of  six  eminent  men 
in  wigs.    According  to  Southey  she  ''appalled  the  doctors." 

Ifs  not  easy  to  do  that:  but  they  had  some  reason  to 


These  Splendid  Women  81 

feel  bothered,  as  that  surgeon  would  assuredly  feel 
bothered  who,  upon  proceeding  to  dissect  a  subject,  should 
find  the  subject  retaliating  as  a  dissector  upon  himself, 
especially  if  Joanna  ever  made  the  speech  to  them  which 
occupies  V.  354-391,  bk.  iii.  It  is  a  double  impossibihty ; 
1st,  became  a  piracy  from  Tindal's  "Christianity  as  old 
as  the  Creation" — a  piracy  a  parte  ante,  and  by  three 
centuries;  2d,  it  is  quite  contrary  to  the  evidence  on 
Joanna's  trial.  Southey's  "Joan"  of  a.  d.  1796  (Cottle, 
Bristol)  tells  the  doctors,  among  other  secrets,  that  she 
never  in  her  Hfe  attended — 1st,  Mass ;  nor  2d,  the  Sacra- 
mental Table;  nor  3d,  Confession.  In  the  meantime,  all 
this  deistical  confession  of  Joanna's,  besides  being  sui- 
cidal for  the  interest  of  her  cause,  is  opposed  to  the 
depositions  upon  both  trials.  The  very  best  witness  called 
from  first  to  last  deposes  that  Joanna  attended  these 
rites  of  her  Church  even  too  often ;  was  taxed  with  doing 
so:  and  by  blushing,  owned  the  charge  as  a  fact,  though 
certainly  not  as  a  fault.  Joanna  was  a  girl  of  natural 
piety,  that  saw  God  in  forests  and  hills  and  fountains, 
but  did  not  the  less  seek  Him  in  chapels  and  consecrated 
oratories. 

This  peasant  girl  was  self-educated  through  her  own 
natural  meditativeness.  If  the  reader  turns  to  that  divine 
passage  in  "Paradise  Regained"  which  Milton  has  put  into 
the  mouth  of  our  Saviour  when  first  entering  the  wilder- 
ness, and  musing  upon  the  tendency  of  those  great  im- 
pulses growing  within  himself — 

"Oh,  what  a  multitude  of  thoughts  at  once 
Awakened  in  me  swarm,  while  I  consider 
What  from  within  I  feel  myself,  and  hear 
What  from  without  comes  often  to  my  ears, 
111  sorting  with  my  present  state  compared ! 
When  I  was  yet  a  child,  no  childish  play 
To  me  was  pleasing;  all  my  mind  was  set 
Serious  to  learn  and  know,  and  thence  to  do, 
What  might  be  public  good ;  myself  I  thought 
Born  to  that  end — " 


82  These  Splendid  Women 

he  will  have  some  notion  of  the  vast  reveries  which 
brooded  over  the  heart  of  Joanna  in  early  girlhood,  when 
the  wings  were  budding  that  should  carry  her  from  Or- 
leans to  Rheims;  when  the  golden  chariot  was  dimly  re- 
vealing itself  that  should  carry  her  from  the  kingdom 
of  France  Delivered  to  the  Eternal  Kingdom. 

It  is  not  requisite  for  the  honour  of  Joanna  to  pursue 
her  brief  career  of  action.  That,  though  wonderful,  forms 
the  earthly  part  of  her  story;  the  spiritual  part  is  the 
saintly  passion  of  her  imprisonment,  trial,  and  execution. 
But  Joanna's  history  bisects  into  two  opposite  hemispheres. 
It  is  sufficient,  as  concerns  the  first  half  of  Joanna's  life, 
to  say  that  she  fulfilled,  to  the  height  of  her  promises, 
the  restoration  of  the  prostrate  throne.  France  had  be- 
come a  province  of  England,  and  for  the  ruin  of  both, 
if  such  a  yoke  could  be  maintained.  Dreadful  pecuniary 
exhaustion  caused  the  English  energy  to  droop;  and  that 
critical  opening  La  Pucelle  used  with  a  corresponding 
felicity  of  audacity  and  suddenness  (that  were  in  them- 
selves portentous)  for  introducing  the  wedge  of  French 
native  resources,  for  rekindling  the  national  pride,  and 
for  planting  the  dauphin  once  more  upon  his  feet.  When 
Joanna  appeared,  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  giving  up 
the  struggle  with  the  English,  distressed  as  they  were,  and 
of  flying  to  the  south  of  France.  She  taught  him  to  blush 
for  such  abject  counsels.  She  liberated  Orleans,  that 
great  city,  so  decisive  by  its  fate  for  the  issue  of  the 
war,  and  then  beleagured  by  the  English  with  an  elaborate 
application  of  engineering  skill  unprecedented  in  Europe. 

Entering  the  city  after  sunset  the  29th  of  April,  she 
sang  mass  on  Sunday,  May  8th,  for  the  entire  disappear- 
ance of  the  besieging  force.  On  the  29th  of  June  she 
fought  and  gained  over  the  English  the  decisive  battle  of 
Patay;  on  the  9th  of  July  she  took  Troyes  by  a  coup-de- 
niain  from  a  mixed  garrison  of  English  and  Burgundians; 
on  the  15th  of  that  month  she  carried  the  dauphin  into 
Rheims;  on  Sunday  the  17th  she  crowned  him;  and  there 


These  Splendid  Women  83 

she  rested  from  her  labour  of  triumph.  All  that  was 
to  be  done  she  had  now  accomplished;  what  remained  was 
— to  suffer. 

AH  this  forward  movement  was  her  own;  excepting 
one  man,  the  whole  council  was  against  her.  Her  enemies 
were  all  that  drew  power  from  earth.  Her  supporters 
were  her  own  strong  enthusiasm,  and  the  headlong  con- 
tagion by  which  she  carried  this  sublime  frenzy  into  the 
hearts  of  women,  of  soldiers,  and  of  all  who  lived  by 
labour.  Henceforward  she  was  thwarted;  and  the  worst 
error  that  she  committed  was  to  lend  the  sanction  of  her 
presence  to  counsels  which  she  had  ceas^ed  to  approve. 
But  she  had  now  accomplished  the  capital  objects  which 
her  own  visions  had  dictated.  These  involved  all  the  rest. 
Errors  were  now  less  important;  and  doubtless  it  had 
now  become  more  difficult  for  herself  to  pronounce 
authentically  what  were  errors.  The  noble  girl  had 
achieved,  as  by  a  rapture  of  motion,  the  capital  end  of 
clearing  out  a  free  space  around  her  sovereign,  giving  him 
the  power  to  move  his  arms  with  effect,  and,  secondly, 
the  inappreciable  end  of  winning  for  that  sovereign  what 
seemed  to  all  France  the  heavenly  ratification  of  his 
rights,  by  crowning  him  with  the  ancient  solemnities.  She 
had  made  it  impossible  for  the  English  now  to  step  before 
her.  They  were  caught  in  an  irretrievable  blunder,  owing 
partly  to  discord  among  the  uncles  of  Henry  VI.,  partly  to 
a  want  of  funds,  but  partly  to  the  very  impossibility 
which  they  believed  to  press  with  tenfold  force  upon  any 
French  attempt  to  forestall  theirs.  They  laughed  at  such 
a  thought;  and,  while  they  laughed,  she  did  it.  Hence- 
forth the  single  redress  for  the  English  of  this  capital 
oversight,  but  which  never  could  have  redressed  it  effec- 
tually, was  to  vitiate  and  taint  the  coronation  of  Charles 
Vn.  as  the  work  of  a  witch.  That  policy  was  the  moving 
principle  in  the  subsequent  prosecution  of  Joanna.  Un- 
less they  unhinged  the  force  of  the  first  coronation  in  the 
popular  mind  by  associating  it  with  power  given  from  hell, 


S4  These  Splendid  Women 

they   felt  that  the   sceptre   of   the  invader  was  broken. 

But  she,  the  child  that,  at  nineteen,  had  wrought  won- 
ders so  great  for  France,  was  she  not  elated?  Did  she 
not  lose,  as  men  so  often  have  lost,  all  sobriety  of  mind 
when  standing  upon  the  pinnacle  of  success  so  giddy? 
Let  her  enemies  declare.  During  the  progress  of  her 
movement,  and  in  the  centre  of  ferocious  struggles,  she 
had  manifested  the  temper  of  her  feelings  by  the  pity 
which  she  had  everywhere  expressed  for  the  suffering 
enemy.  She  forwarded  to  the  English  leaders  a  touching 
invitation  to  unite  with  the  French,  as  brothers,  in  a  com- 
mon crusade  against  infidels — thus  opening  the  road  for 
a  soldierly  retreat.  She  interposed  to  protect  the  captive 
or  the  wounded;  she  mourned  over  the  excesses  of  her 
countrymen;  she  threw  herself  off  her  horse  to  kneel 
by  the  dying  English  soldier,  and  to  comfort  him  with 
such  ministrations,  physical  or  spiritual,  as  his  situation 
allowed.  She  sheltered  the  English  that  invoked  her  aid 
in  her  own  quarters.  She  wept  as  she  beheld,  stretched 
on  the  field  of  battle,  so  many  brave  enemies  that  had 
died  without  confession.  And,  as  regarded  herself,  her 
elation  expressed  itself  thus :  on  the  day  when  she  had 
finished  her  work,  she  wept ;  for  she  knew  that,  when  her 
triumplial  task  was  done,  her  end  must  be  approaching. 

Her  aspirations  pointed  only  to  a  place  which  seemed 
to  her  more  than  usually  full  of  natural  piety,  as  one  in 
which  it  would  give  her  pleasure  to  die.  And  she  uttered, 
between  smiles  and  tears,  as  a  wish  that  inexpressibly 
fascinated  her  heart,  and  yet  was  half  fantastic,  a  broken 
prayer  that  God  would  return  her  to  the  solitudes  from 
which  he  had  drawn  her,  and  suffer  her  to  become  a 
shepherdess  once  more.  It  was  a  natural  prayer,  because 
nature  has  laid  a  necessity  upon  every  human  heart  to 
seek  for  rest  and  to  shrink  from  torment.  Yet,  again, 
it  was  a  half-fantastic  prayer,  because  from  childhood 
upward,  visions  that  she  had  no  power  to  mistrust,  and 
the  voices  which  sounded  in  her  ear  for  ever,  had  long 


These  Splendid  Women  85 

since  persuaded  her  mind  that  for  her  no  such  prayer 
could  be  granted.  Too  well  she  felt  that  her  mission  must 
be  worked  out  to  the  end,  and  that  the  end  was  now  at 
hand. 

All  went  wrong  from  this  time.  She  herself  had 
created  the  funds  out  of  which  the  French  restoration 
should  grow;  but  she  was  not  suffered  to  witness  their 
development  or  their  prosperous  application.  More  than 
one  military  plan  was  entered  upon  which  she  did  not 
approve.  But  she  still  continued  to  expose  her  person  as 
before.  Severe  wounds  had  not  taught  her  caution.  And 
at  length,  in  a  sortie  from  Compiegne  (whether  through 
treacherous  collusion  on  the  part  of  her  own  friends  is 
doubtful  to  this  day)  she  was  made  prisoner  by  the 
Burgundians,  and  finally  surrendered  to  the  English. 

Now  came  her  trial.  This  trial,  moving  of  course 
under  English  influence,  was  conducted  in  chief  by  the 
Bishop  of  Beauvais.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  sold  to  Eng- 
lish interests,  and  hoping,  by  favour  of  the  English  lead- 
ers, to  reach  the  highest  preferment.  "Bishop  that  art, 
Archbishop  that  shalt  be,  Cardinal  that  mayest  be,"  were 
the  words  that  sounded  continually  in  his  ear ;  and  doubt- 
less a  whisper  of  visions  still  higher,  of  a  triple  crown, 
and  feet  upon  the  necks  of  kings,  sometimes  stole  into 
his  heart.  M.  Michelet  is  anxious  to  keep  us  in  mind  that 
this  bishop  was  but  an  agent  of  the  English.  True.  But 
it  does  not  better  the  case  for  his  countryman  that,  being 
an  accomplice  in  the  crime,  making  himself  the  leader  in 
the  persecution  against  the  helpless  girl,  he  was  willing  to 
be  all  this  in  the  spirit,  and  with  the  conscious  vileness  of 
a  cat's-paw.  Never  from  the  foundations  of  the  earth 
was  there  such  a  trial  as  this,  if  it  were  laid  open  in  all 
its  beauty  of   defence  and  all  its  hellishness  of  attack. 

Oh,  child  of  France !  shepherdess,  peasant  girl !  trodden 
under  foot  by  all  around  thee,  how  I  honor  thy  flashing 
intellect,  quick  as  God's  lightning,  and  true  as  God's  light- 
ning to  its  mark,  that  ran  before  France  and  laggard 


86  These  Splendid  Wo?nen 

Europe  by  many  a  century,  confounding  the  malice  of  the 
ensnarer,  and  making  dumb  the  oracles  of  falsehood! 
"Would  you  examine  me  as  a  witness  against  myself  ?" 
was  the  question  by  which  many  times  she  defied  their 
arts.  Continually  she  showed  that  their  interrogations 
were  irrelevant  to  any  business  before  the  court,  or  that 
entered  into  the  ridiculous  charges  against  her.  General 
questions  were  proposed  to  her  on  points  or  casuistical 
divinity;  two-edged  questions,  which  not  one  of  them- 
selves could  have  answered,  without,  on  the  one  side, 
landing  himself  in  heresy  (as  then  interpreted),  or,  on 
the  other,  in  some  presumptuous  expression  of  self- 
esteem. 

Next  came  a  wretched  Dominican,  that  pressed  her  with 
an  objection,  which,  if  applied  to  the  Bible,  would  tax 
every  one  of  its  miracles  with  unsoundness.  The  monk 
had  the  excuse  of  never  having  read  the  Bible.  Her 
answer  to  this,  if  there  were  room  to  place  the  whole 
in  a  clear  light,  was  as  shattering  as  it  was  rapid.  An- 
other thought  to  entrap  her  by  asking  what  language  the 
angelic  visitors  of  her  solitude  had  talked — as  though 
heavenly  counsels  could  want  polyglot  interpreters  for 
every  word,  or  that  God  needed  language  at  all  in  whis- 
pering thoughts  to  a  human  heart.  Then  came  a  worse 
devil,  who  asked  her  whether  the  Archangel  Michael  had 
appeared  naked.  Not  comprehending  the  vile  insinuation, 
Joanna,  whose  poverty  suggested  to  her  simplicity  that  it 
might  be  the  costliness  of  suitable  robes  which  caused  the 
demur,  asked  them  if  they  fancied  God,  who  clothed 
the  flowers  of  the  valleys,  unable  to  find  raiment  for  his 
servants.  The  answer  of  Joanna  moves  a  smile  of  tender- 
ness, but  the  disappointment  of  her  judges  makes  one 
laugh  exultingly.  Others  succeeded  by  troops,  who  up- 
braided her  with  leaving  her  father;  as  if  that  greater 
Father,  whom  she  believed  herself  to  have  been  serving, 
did  not  retain  the  power  of  dispensing  with  his  own  rules, 
or  had  not  said  that  for  a  less  cause  than  martyrdom 


These  Splendid  Women  87 

man  and  woman  should  leave  both  father  and  mother. 

On  Easter  Sunday,  when  the  trial  had  been  long  pro- 
ceeding, the  poor  girl  fell  so  ill  as  to  cause  a  belief  that 
she  had  been  poisoned.  It  was  not  poison.  Nobody  had 
any  interest  in  hastening  a  death  so  certain.  M.  Michelet, 
whose  sympathies  with  all  feelings  are  so  quick  that  one 
would  gladly  see  them  always  as  justly  directed,  reads  the 
case  most  truly.  Joanna  had  a  twofold  malady.  She  was 
visited  by  a  paroxysm  of  the  complaint  called  homesick- 
ness. The  cruel  nature  of  her  imprisonment,  and  its 
length,  could  not  but  point  her  solitary  thoughts,  in  dark- 
ness and  in  chains  (for  chained  she  was),  to  Domremy. 
And  the  season,  which  was  the  most  heavenly  period  of 
the  spring,  added  stings  to  this  yearning.  That  was  one 
of  her  maladies — nostalgia,  as  medicine  calls  it ;  the  other 
was  weariness  and  exhaustion  from  daily  combats  with 
malice.  She  saw  that  everybody  hated  her  and  thirsted 
for  her  blood;  nay,  many  kind-hearted  creatures  that 
would  have  pitied  her  profoundly,  as  regarded  all  political 
charges,  had  their  natural  feelings  warped  by  the  belief 
that  she  had  dealings  with  fiendish  powers.  She  knew 
she  was  to  die ;  that  was  not  the  misery !  the  misery  was 
that  this  consummation  could  not  be  reached  without  so 
much  intermediate  strife,  as  if  she  were  contending  for 
some  chance  (where  chance  was  none)  of  happiness,  or 
were  dreaming  for  a  moment  of  escaping  the  inevitable. 

Why,  then,  did  she  contend?  Knowing  that  she  would 
reap  nothing  from  answering  her  persecutors,  why  did  she 
not  retire  by  silence  from  the  superfluous  contest?  It  was 
because  her  quick  and  eager  loyalty  to  truth  would  not 
suffer  her  to  see  it  darkened  by  frauds  which  she  could 
expose,  but  others,  even  of  candid  listeners,  perhaps 
could  not;  it  was  through  that  imperishable  grandeur  of 
soul  which  taught  her  to  submit  meekly  and  without  a 
struggle  to  her  punishment,  but  taught  her  not  to  submit — 
no,  not  for  a  moment — to  calumny  as  to  facts,  or  to  mis- 
construction as  to  motives.     Besides,  there  were  secre- 


88  These  Splendid  Women 

taries  all  around  the  court  taking  down  her  words.  That 
was  meant  for  no  good  to  her.  But  the  end  does  not 
always  correspond  to  the  meaning.  And  Joanna  might 
say  to  herself,  "These  words  that  will  be  used  against 
me  to-morrow  and  the  next  day,  perhaps,  in  some  nobler 
generation,  may  rise  again  for  my  justification."  Yes, 
Joanna,  they  are  rising  even  now  in  Paris,  and  for  more 
than  justification. 

Woman,  sister,  there  are  some  things  which  you  do 
not  execute  as  well  as  your  brother,  man;  no,  nor  ever 
will.  Pardon  me  if  I  doubt  whether  you  will  ever  produce 
a  great  poet  from  your  choirs,  or  a  Mozart,  or  a  Phidias, 
or  a  Michael  Angelo,  or  a  great  philosopher,  or  a  great 
scholar.  By  which  last  is  meant — not  one  who  depends 
simply  on  an  infinite  memory,  but  also  on  an  infinite  and 
electrical  power  of  combination;  bringing  together  from 
the  four  winds,  like  the  angel  of  the  resurrection,  what 
else  were  dust  from  dead  men's  bones,  into  the  unity  of 
breathing  life.  If  you  can  create  yourselves  into  any 
of  these  great  creators,  why  have  you  not? 

Yet,  sister  woman,  though  I  cannot  consent  to  find  a 
Mozart  or  a  Michael  Angelo  in  your  sex,  cheerfully,  and 
with  the  love  that  burns  in  depths  of  admiration,  I  ac- 
knowledge that  you  can  do  one  thing  as  well  as  the  best 
of  us  men — a  greater  thing  than  even  Milton  is  known 
to  have  done,  or  Michael  Angelo ;  you  can  die  grandly,  and 
as  goddesses  would  die,  were  goddesses  mortal.  If  any 
distant  worlds  (which  may  be  the  case)  are  so  far  ahead 
of  us  Tellurians  in  optical  resources  as  to  see  distinctly 
through  their  telescopes  all  that  we  do  on  earth,  what  is 
the  grandest  sight  to  which  we  ever  treat  them?  St. 
Peter's  at  Rome,  do  you  fancy,  on  Easter  Sunday,  or 
Luxor,  or  perhaps  the  Himalayas  ?  Oh,  no !  my  friend ; 
suggest  something  better ;  these  are  baubles  to  them;  they 
see  in  other  worlds,  in  their  own,  far  better  toys  of  the 
same  kind.    These,  take  my  word  for  it,  are  nothing.    Do 


These  Splendid  Women  89 

you  give  it  up?  The  finest  thing,  then,  we  have  to  show 
them  is  a  scaffold  on  the  morning  of  execution. 

I  assure  you  there  is  a  strong  muster  in  those  far 
telescopic  worlds,  on  any  such  morning,  of  those  who  hap- 
pen to  find  themselves  occupying  the  right  hemisphere  for 
a  peep  at  us.  How,  then,  if  it  be  announced  in  some  such 
telescopic  world  by  those  who  make  a  livelihood  of  catch- 
ing glimpses  at  our  newspapers,  whose  language  they  have 
long  since  deciphered,  that  the  poor  victim  in  the  morn- 
ing's sacrifice  is  a  woman? 

How,  if  it  be  published  in  that  distant  world  that  the 
sufferer  wears  upon  her  head,  in  the  eyes  of  many,  the 
garlands  of  martyrdom? 

How,  if  it  should  be  some  Marie  Antoinette,  the  wid- 
owed queen,  coming  forward  on  the  scaffold,  and  present- 
ing to  the  morning  air  her  head,  turned  gray  by  sorrow — 
daughter  of  Caesars  kneeling  down  humbly  to  kiss  the 
guillotine,  as  one  that  worships  death  ? 

How,  if  it  were  the  noble  Charlotte  Corday,  that  in 
the  bloom  of  youth,  that  with  the  loveliest  of  persons, 
that  with  homage  waiting  upon  her  smiles  wherever  she 
turned  her  face  to  scatter  them — homage  that  followed 
those  smiles  as  surely  as  the  carols  of  the  birds,  after 
showers  in  spring,  follow  the  reappearing  sun  and  the  rac- 
ing of  sunbeams  over  the  hills — yet  thought  all  these 
things  cheaper  than  the  dust  upon  her  sandals,  in  com- 
parison of  deliverance  from  hell  for  her  dear  suffering 
France ! 

Ah !  these  were  spectacles  indeed  for  those  sympathiz- 
ing people  in  distant  worlds,  and  some,  perhaps,  would 
suffer  a  sort  of  martyrdom  themselves,  because  they  could 
not  testify  the  wrath,  could  not  bear  witness  to  the 
strength  of  love  and  to  the  fury  hatred  that  burned 
within  them  at  such  scenes,  could  not  gather  into  golden 
urns  some  of  that  glorious  dust  which  rested  in  the  cata- 
combs of  earth. 

On  the  Wednesday  after  Trinity  Sunday  in  1431,  being 


90  These  Splendid  Women 

then  about  nineteen  years  of  age,  the  Maid  of  Arc  under- 
went her  martyrdom.  She  was  conducted  before  mid-day, 
guarded  by  eight  hundred  spearmen,  to  a  platform  of 
prodigious  height,  constructed  of  wooden  billets  supported 
by  occasional  walls  of  lath  and  plaster,  and  traversed  by 
hollow  spaces  in  every  direction  for  the  creation  of  air 
currents.  The  pile  "struck  terror,"  says  M.  Michelet,  "by 
its  height";  and,  as  usual,  the  English  purpose  in  this  is 
viewed  as  one  of  pure  malignity.  But  there  are  two  ways 
of  explaining  all  that.  It  is  probable  that  the  purpose 
was  merciful.  On  the  circumstance  of  the  execution  I 
shall  not  linger.  Yet,  to  mark  the  almost  fatal  felicity  of 
M.  Michelet  in  finding  out  whatever  may  injure  the  Eng- 
lish name,  at  a  moment  when  every  reader  will  be  inter- 
ested in  Joanna's  personal  appearance,  it  is  really  edifying 
to  notice  the  ingenuity  by  which  he  draws  into  light  from 
a  dark  corner  a  very  unjust  account  of  it,  and  neglects, 
though  lying  upon  the  highroad,  a  very  pleasing  one. 
Both  are  from  English  pens.  Grafton,  a  chronicler,  but 
little  read,  being  a  stiff-necked  John  Bull,  thought  fit  to 
say  that  no  wonder  Joanna  should  be  virgin,  since  her 
"foule  face"  was  a  satisfactory  solution  of  that  particular 
merit.  Holinshead,  on  the  other  hand,  a  chronicler  some- 
what later,  every  way  more  important,  and  at  one  time 
universally  read,  has  given  a  very  pleasing  testimony  to 
the  interesting  character  of  Joanna's  person  and  engaging 
manners.  Neither  of  these  men  lived  till  the  following 
century,  so  that  personally  this  evidence  is  none  at  all. 
Grafton  suddenly  and  carelessly  believed  as  he  wished  to 
believe ;  Holinshead  took  pains  to  inquire,  and  reports  un- 
doubtedly the  general  impression  of  France. 

The  circumstantial  incidents  of  the  excution,  unless 
with  more  space  than  I  can  now  command,  I  should  be 
unwilling  to  relate.  I  should  fear  to  injure,  by  imperfect 
report,  a  martyrdom  which  to  myself  appears  so  un- 
speakably grand.  Yet,  for  a  purpose,  pointing  not  at 
Joanna,  but  at  ]\I.  IMichelet — viz.,  to  convince  him  that  an 


These  Splendid  Women  91 

Englishman  is  capable  of  thinking  more  highly  of  La 
Pucelle  than  even  her  admiring  countrymen — I  shall,  in 
parting,  allude  to  one  or  two  traits  in  Joanna's  demeanor 
on  the  scaffold,  and  to  one  or  two  in  that  of  the  by- 
standers, which  authorize  me  in  questioning  an  opinion 
of  his  upon  this  martyr's  firmness.  The  reader  ought  to 
be  reminded  that  Joanna  D'Arc  was  subject  to  an  un- 
usually unfair  trial  of  opinion.  Any  of  the  elder  Chris- 
tian martyrs  had  not  much  to  fear  of  personal  rancor. 

The  martyr  was  chiefly  regarded  as  the  enemy  cf 
Caesar ;  at  times,  also,  where  any  knowledge  of  the  Christ- 
ian faith  and  morals  existed,  with  the  enmity  that  arises 
spontaneously  in  the  worldly  against  the  spiritual.  But  the 
martyr,  though  disloyal,  was  not  supposed  to  be  there- 
fore anti-national;  and  still  less  was  individually  hateful. 
What  was  hated  (if  anything)  belonged  to  his  class,  not 
to  himself  separately.  Now,  Joanna,  if  hated  at  all,  was 
hated  personally,  and  in  Rouen  on  national  grounds. 
Hence  there  would  be  a  certainty  of  calumny  arising 
against  her  such  as  would  not  affect  martyrs  in  general. 
That  being  the  case,  it  would  follow  of  necessity  that 
some  people  would  impute  to  her  a  willingness  to  recant. 
No  innocence  could  escape  that.  Now,  had  she  really 
testified  this  willingness  on  the  scaffold,  it  would  have 
argued  nothing  at  all  but  the  weakness  of  a  genial  nature 
shrinking  from  the  instant  approach  of  torment.  And 
those  will  often  pity  that  weakness  most  who,  in  their 
own  persons,  would  yield  to  it  least.  Meantime,  there 
never  was  a  calumny  uttered  that  drew  less  support  from 
the  recorded  circumstances.  It  rests  upon  no  positive 
testimony,  and  it  has  a  weight  of  contradicting  testimony 
to  stem. 

And  yet,  strange  to  say,  M.  Michelet,  who  at  times 
seems  to  admire  the  Maid  of  Arc  as  much  as  I  do,  is  the 
one  sole  writer  among  her  friends  who  lends  some  coun- 
tenance to  this  odious  slander.  His  words  are  that,  if  she 
did  not  utter  this  word  recant  with  her  lips,  she  uttered  it 


92  These  Splendid  Women 

in  her  heart.  "Whether  she  said  the  word  is  uncertain; 
but  I  affirm  that  she  thought  it." 

Now,  I  affirm  that  she  did  not;  not  in  any  sense  of 
the  word  ''thought"  appHcable  to  the  case.  Here  is 
France  calumniating  La  Pucelle;  here  is  England  de- 
fending her.  M.  Michelet  can  only  mean  that,  on  a 
priori  principles,  every  woman  must  be  presumed  liable 
to  such  a  weakness;  that  Joanna  was  a  woman;  ergo, 
that  she  was  liable  to  such  a  weakness.  That  is,  he  only 
supposes  her  to  have  uttered  the  word  by  an  argument 
which  presumes  it  impossible  for  anybody  to  have  done 
otherwise.  I,  on  the  contrary,  throw  the  onus  of  the 
argument  not  on  presumable  tendencies  of  nature,  but  on 
the  known  fact  of  that  morning's  execution,  as  recorded 
by  multitudes. 

What  else,  I  demand,  than  mere  weight  of  metal,  abso- 
lute nobility  of  deportment,  broke  the  vast  line  of  battle 
then-  against  her  ?  What  else  but  her  meek,  saintly  de- 
meanor won,  from  the  enemies  that  till  now  had  believed 
her  a  witch,  tears  of  rapturous  admiration?  "Ten  thou- 
sand men,"  says  M.  Michelet,  "ten  thousand  men  wept"; 
and  of  these  ten  thousand  the  majority  were  political 
enemies  knitted  together  by  cords  of  superstition.  What 
else  was  it  but  her  constancy,  united  with  her  angelic 
gentleness,  that  drove  the  fanatic  English  soldier — who 
had  sworn  to  throw  a  fagot  on  her  scaffold  as  his  tribute 
of  abhorrence,  that  did  so,  that  fulfilled  his  vow — suddenly 
to  turn  away  a  penitent  for  life,  saying  everywhere  that 
he  had  seen  a  dove  rising  upon  wings  to  heaven  from  the 
ashes  where  she  had  stood?  What  else  drove  the  execu- 
tioner to  kneel  at  every  shrine  for  pardon  to  his  share 
in  the  tragedy?  And,  if  all  this  were  insufficient,  then  I 
cite  the  closing  act  of  her  life  as  valid  on  her  behalf,  were 
all  other  testimonies  against  her.  The  executioner  had 
been  directed  to  apply  his  torch  from  below.  He  did 
so.  The  fiery  smoke  rose  upward  in  billowing  volumes. 
A  Dominican  monk  was  then  standing  almost  at  her  side. 


These  Splendid  Women  93 

Wrapped  up  in  his  sublime  office,  he  saw  not  the  danger, 
but  still  persisted  in  his  prayers.  Even  then,  when  the 
last  enemy  was  racing  up  the  fiery  stairs  to  seize  her, 
even  at  that  moment  did  this  noblest  of  girls  think  only 
for  him,  the  one  friend  that  would  not  forsake  her,  and 
not  for  herself ;  bidding  him  with  her  last  breath  to  care 
for  his  own  preservation,  but  to  leave  her  to  God.  That 
girl,  whose  latest  breath  ascended  in  this  sublime  expres- 
sion of  self-oblivion,  did  not  utter  the  word  recant  either 
with  her  lips  or  in  her  heart.  No;  she  did  not,  though 
one  should  rise  from  the  dead  to  swear  it. 

******** 

Bishop  of  Beauvais !  The  victim  died  in  fire  upon  a 
scaffold — thou  upon  a  down  bed.  But,  for  the  departing 
minutes  of  life,  both  are  oftentimes  alike.  At  the  fare- 
well crisis,  when  the  gates  of  death  are  opening,  and  flesh 
is  resting  from  its  ^'struggles,  oftentimes  the  tortured  and 
the  torturer  have  the  same  truce  from  carnal  torment; 
both  sink  together  into  sleep;  together  both  sometimes 
kindle  into  dreams.  When  the  mortal  mists  were  gather- 
ing fast  upon  you  two,  bishop  and  shepherd  girl — when 
the  pavilions  of  life  were  closing  up  their  shadowy  cur- 
tains about  you — let  us  try,  through  the  gigantic  glooms, 
to  decipher  the  flying  features  of  your  separate  visions. 

The  shepherd  girl  that  had  delivered  France — she, 
from  her  dungeon,  she,  from  her  baiting  at  the  stake, 
she,  from  her  duel  with  fire,  as  she  entered  her  last  dream 
— saw  Domremy,  saw  the  fountain  of  Domremy,  saw 
the  pomp  of  forests  in  which  her  childhood  had  wandered. 
That  Easter  festival  which  man  had  denied  to  her  lan- 
guishing heart — that  resurrection  of  springtime,  which 
the  darkness  of  dungeons  had  intercepted  from  her,  hun- 
gering after  the  glorious  liberty  of  forests — were  by  God 
given  back  into  her  hands  as  jewels  that  had  been  stolen 
from  her  by  robbers.  With  those,  perhaps  (for  the  min- 
utes of  dreams  can  stretch  into  ages),  was  given  back  to 


94  These  Splendid  Women 

her  by  God  the  bliss  of  childhood.  By  special  privilege 
for  her  might  be  created,  in  this  farewell  dream,  a  second 
childhood  innocent  as  the  first ;  but  not,  Hke  that,  sad  with 
the  gloom  of  a  fearful  mission  in  the  rear.  This  mission 
had  now  been  fulfilled.  The  storm  was  weathered;  the 
skirts  even  of  that  mighty  storm  were  drawing  off.  The 
blood  that  she  was  to  reckon  for  had  been  exacted;  the 
tears  that  she  was  to  shed  in  secret  had  been  paid  to 
the  last.  The  hatred  to  herself  in  all  eyes  had  been 
faced  steadily,  had  been  suffered,  had  been  survived. 
And  in  her  last  fight  upon  the  scaffold  she  had  triumphed 
gloriously ;  victoriously  she  had  tasted  the  stings  of  death. 
For  all,  except  this  comfort  from  her  farewell  dream,  she 
had  died — died  amid  the  tears  of  ten  thousand  enemies — 
died  amid  the  drums  and  trumpets  of  armies — died  amid 
peals  redoubling  upon  peals,  volleys  upon  volleys,  from  the 
saluting  clarions  of  martyrs. 

Bishop  of  Beauvais!  because  the  guilt-burdened  man 
is  in  dreams  haunted  and  waylaid  by  the  most  frightful  of 
his  crimes,  and  because  upon  the  fluctuating  mirror — ris- 
ing (like  the  mocking  mirrors  of  mirage  in  Arabian  des- 
erts) from  the  fens  of  death — most  of  all  are  reflected 
the  sweet  countenances  which  the  man  has  laid  in 
ruins;  therefore  I  know,  bishop,  that  you  also,  entering 
your  final  dream,  saw  Domremy.  That  fountain,  of 
which  the  witnesses  spoke  so  much,  showed  itself  to  your 
eyes  in  pure  morning  dews;  but  neither  dews,  nor  the 
holy  dawn,  could  cleanse  away  the  bright  spots  of  inno- 
cent blood  upon  its  surface.  By  the  fountain,  bishop, 
you  saw  a  woman  seated,  that  hid  her  face.  But,  as  you 
draw  near,  the  woman  raises  her  wasted  features.  Would 
Domremy  know  them  again  for  the  features  of  her  child  ? 
Ah,  but  you  know  them,  bishop,  well !  Oh,  mercy !  what 
a  groan  was  that  which  the  servants,  waiting  outside  the 
bishop's  dream  at  his  bedside,  heard  from  his  laboring 
heart,  as  at  this  moment  he  turned  away  from  the  foun- 
tain and  the  woman,  seeking  rest  in  the  forests  afar  off. 


These  Splendid  Women  95 

Yet  not  so  to  escape  the  woman,  whom  once  again  he 
must  behold  before  he  dies.  In  the  forests  to  which  he 
prays  for  pity,  will  he  find  a  respite?  What  a  tumult, 
what  a  gathering  of  feet  is  there !  In  glades  where  only 
wild  deer  should  run  armies  and  nations  are  assembling; 
towering  in  the  fluctuating  crowd  are  phantoms  that 
belong  to  departed  hours.  There  is  the  great  English 
Prince,  Regent  of  France.  There  is  my  Lord  of  Win- 
chester, the  princely  cardinal,  that  died  and  made  no  sign. 
There  is  the  bishop  of  Beauvais,  clinging  to  the  shelter  of 
thickets.  What  building  is  that  which  hands  so  rapid  are 
raising?  Is  it  a  martyr's  scafifold?  Will  they  burn  the 
child  of  Domremy  a  second  time?  No;  it  is  a  tribunal 
that  rises  to  the  clouds;  and  two  nations  stand  around 
it,  waiting  for  a  trial.  Shall  my  Lord  of  Beauvais  sit 
again  upon  the  judgment-seat,  and  again  number  the 
hours  for  the  innocent  ?  Ah,  no !  he  is  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar.  Already  all  is  waiting:  the  mighty  audience  is 
gathered,  the  Court  is  hurrying  to  their  seats,  the  wit- 
nesses are  arrayed,  the  trumpets  are  sounding,  the  judge 
is  taking  his  place.  Oh,  but  this  is  sudden !  My  lord, 
have  you  no  counsel  ?  "Counsel  I  have  none ;  in  heaven 
above,  or  on  earth  beneath,  counsellor  there  is  none  now 
that  would  take  a  brief  from  iiie:  all  are  silent."  Is  it, 
indeed,  come  to  this  ?  Alas !  the  time  is  short,  the  tumult 
is  wondrous,  the  crowd  stretches  away  into  infinity;  but 
yet  I  will  search  in  it  for  somebody  to  take  your  brief ; 
I  know  of  somebody  that  will  be  your  counsel.  Who  is 
this  that  Cometh  from  Domremy?  Who  is  she  in  bloody 
coronation  robes  from  Rheims?  Who  is  she  that  cometh 
with  blackened  flesh  from  walking  the  furnaces  of  Rouen? 
This  is  she,  the  shepherd  girl,  counsellor  that  had  none 
for  herself,  whom  I  choose,  bishop,  for  yours.  She  it  is, 
I  engage,  that  shall  take  my  lord's  brief.  She  it  is, 
bishop,  that  would  plead  for  you;  yes,  bishop,  she — when 
heaven  and  earth  are  silent. 


Uittoria  Qolonna 

By  THOMAS  ADOLPHUS  TROLLOPE 

VITTORIA  COLONNA/  was  the  daughter  of 
Fabrizio,  brother  of  that  protonotary  Colonna 
whose  miserable  death  at  the  hands  of  the  heredi- 
tary enemies  of  his  family,  the  Orsini,  allied  with  the 
Riarii,  then  in  power  for  the  nonce  during  the  popedom 
of  Sixtus  IV.,  has  been  related  in  the  life  of  Caterina 
Sforza.  Her  mother  was  Agnes  of  Montefeltre;  and  all 
the  biographers  and  historians  tell  us  that  she  was  the 
3^oungest  of  six  children  born  to  her  parents.  The  state- 
ment is  a  curious  instance  of  the  extreme  and  very  easily 
detected  inaccuracy  which  may  often  be  found  handed 
on  unchallenged  from  one  generation  to  another  of  Italian 
writers  of  biography  and  history. 

It  can  scarcely  be  necessary  to  tell  even  the  most  ex- 
clusively English  reader  how  ancient,  how  noble,  how 
magnificent,  was  the  princely  house  of  Colonna.  They 
were  so  noble  that  their  lawless  violence,  freebooting 
habits,  private  wars,  and  clan  enmities,  rendered  them  a 
scourge  to  their  country;  and  for  several  centuries  con- 
tributed largely  to  the  mass  of  anarchy  and  barbarism, 
that  rendered  Rome  one  of  the  most  insecure  places  of 
abode  in  Europe,  and  still  taints  the  instincts  of  its  popu- 
lace with  characteristics  which  make  it  one  of  the  least 
civilizable  races  of  Italy.  The  Orsini  being  equally  noble, 
and  equally  powerful  and  lawless,  the  high-bred  mastiffs 
of  either  princely  house  for  more  than  two  hundred  years, 
with  short  respites  of  ill-kept  truce,  never  lost  an  oppor- 


These  Splendid  Women  97 

tunity  of  flying  at  each  other's  throats,  to  the  infinite 
annoyance  and  injury  of  their  less  noble  and  more 
peaceably-disposed  fellow-citizens. 

Though  the  possessions  of  the  Colonna  clan  had  be- 
fore been  wide-spread  and  extensive,  they  received  the 
considerable  additions,  during  the  papacy  of  the  Colonna 
pope,  Martin  V,  great  uncle  of  Fabrizio,  Vittoria's  father, 
who  occupied  the  papal  chair  from  1417  to  1431.  At 
the  period  of  our  heroine's  birth,  the  family  property  was 
immense. 

Very  many  were  the  fiefs  held  by  the  Colonna  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  the  city,  and  especially  among 
the  hills  to  the  east  and  south-east  of  the  Campagna. 
There  several  of  the  strongest  positions,  and  most  de- 
lightfully situated  towns  and  castles,  belonged  to  them. 
Among  the  more  important  of  these  was  Marino,  admir- 
ably placed  among  the  hills  that  surround  the  lovely  lake 
of  Albano. 

Few  excursionists  among  the  storied  sites  in  the  en- 
virons of  Rome  make  Marino  the  object  of  a  pilgrimage. 
The  town  had  a  bad  name  in  these  days.  The  Colonna 
vassals  who  inhabit  it,  and  still  pay  to  the  feudal  lord 
a  tribute,  recently  ruled  by  the  Roman  tribunals  to  be  due 
(a  suit  having  been  instituted  by  the  inhabitants  with  a 
view  of  shaking  off  this  old  mark  of  vassalage),  are  said 
to  be  eminent  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  Campagna 
for  violence,  lawlessness,  and  dishonesty. 

It  was  at  Marino  that  Vittoria  was  born,  in  a  rare 
period  of  most  unusually  prolonged  peace.  Her  parents 
had  selected,  we  are  told,  from  among  their  numerous 
castles,  that  beautiful  spot,  for  the  enjoyment  of  the 
short  interval  of  tranquillity  which  smiled  on  their  first 
years  of  marriage.  A  very  successful  raid,  in  which 
Fabrizio  and  his  cousin  Prospero  Colonna  had  harried 
the  fiefs  of  the  Orsini,  and  driven  off  a  great  quantity 
of  cattle,  had  been  followed  by  a  peace  made  under 
the  auspices  of  Innocent  VIII.  on  the  11th  of  August, 


98  These  Splendid  Women 

1486,  which  seems  absolutely  to  have  lasted  till  1494, 
when  we  find  the  two  cousins  at  open  war  with  the  new 
Pope  Alexander  VI. 

Far  more  important  contests,  however,  were  at  hand, 
the  progress  of  which  led  to  the  youthful  daughter  of 
the  house  being  treated,  while  yet  in  her  fifth  year,  as 
part  of  the  family  capital,  to  be  made  use  of  for  the 
advancement  of  the  family  interests,  and  thus  fixed  the 
destiny  of  her  life. 

When  Charles  VIII.  passed  through  Rome  on  his 
march  against  Naples,  at  the  end  of  1494,  the  Colonna 
cousins  sided  with  him;  placed  themselves  under  his 
banners,  and  contributed  materially  to  aid  his  successful 
invasion.  But  on  his  flight  from  Naples,  in  1495,  they 
suddenly  changed  sides,  and  took  service  under  Ferdi- 
nand 11.  The  fact  of  this  change  of  party,  which  to  our 
ideas  seems  to  require  so  much  explanation,  probably 
appeared  to  their  contemporaries  a  perfectly  simple 
matter;  for  it  is  mentioned  as  such  without  any  word 
of  the  motives  or  causes  of  it.  Perhaps  they  merely 
sought  to  sever  themselves  from  a  losing  game.  Pos- 
sibly, as  we  find  them  rewarded  for  their  adherence 
to  the  King  of  Naples  by  the  grant  of  a  great  number  of 
fiefs  previously  possessed  by  the  Orsini,  who  were  on 
the  other  side,  they  were  induced  to  changed  their  al- 
legiance by  the  hope  of  obtaining  those  possessions,  and 
by  the  Colonna  instinct  of  enmity  to  the  Orsini  race. 
Ferdinand,  however,  was  naturally  anxious  to  have  some 
better  hold  over  his  new  friends  than  that  furnished  by 
their  own  oaths  of  fealty;  and  with  this  view  caused 
the  infant  Vittoria  to  be  betrothed  to  his  subject,  Ferdi- 
nand d'Avalos,  son  of  Alphonso,  Marquis  of  Pescara,  a 
child  of  about  the  same  age  as  the  little  bride. 

Little,  as  it  must  appear  to  our  modern  notions,  as 
the  child's  future  happiness  could  have  been  cared  for 
in  the  stipulation  of  a  contract  entered  into  from  such 
motives,  it  so  turned  out  that  nothing  could  have  more 


These  Splendid  Women  99 

effectually  secured  it.  To  Vittoria's  parents,  if  any  doubts 
on  such  a  point  had  presented  themselves  to  their  minds, 
it  would  doubtless  have  appeared  abundantly  sufficient 
to  know  that  the  rank  and  position  of  the  affianced 
bridegroom  were  such  as  to  secure  their  daughter  one 
of  the  highest  places  among  the  nobility  of  the  court 
of  Naples,  and  the  enjoyment  of  vast  and  widespread 
possessions.  But  to  Vittoria  herself  all  this  would  not 
have  been  enough.  And  the  earliest  and  most  important 
advantage  arising  to  her  from  her  betrothal  was  the 
bringing  her  under  the  influence  of  that  training,  which 
made  her  such  a  woman  as  could  not  find  her  happiness 
in  such  matters. 

We  are  told  that  henceforth — that  is,  after  the  be- 
trothal— she  was  educated,  together  with  her  future  hus- 
band, in  the  island  of  Ischia,  under  the  care  of  the 
widowed  Duchessa  di  Francavilla,  the  young  Pescara's 
elder  sister.  Costanza  d'Avalos,  Duchessa  di  Franca- 
villa, appears  to  have  been  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
w^omen  of  her  time.  When  her  father  Alphonso, 
Marchessa  di  Pescara,  lost  his  life  by  the  treason  of 
a  black  slave,  on  the  7th  of  September,  1495,  leaving 
Ferdinand  his  son  the  heir  to  his  titles  and  estates,  an 
infant  five  years  old,  then  quite  recently  betrothed  to 
Vittoria,  the  Duchessa  di  Francavilla  assumed  the  entire 
direction  and  governance  of  the  family.  So  high  was 
her  reputation  for  prudence,  energy,  and  trustworthiness 
in  every  way,  that  on  the  death  of  her  husband,  King 
Ferdinand  made  her  governor  and  "chatelaine"  of  Ischia, 
one  of  the  most  important  keys  of  the  kingdom.  Nor 
were  her  gifts  and  qualities  only  such  as  were  calcu- 
lated to  fit  her  for  holding  such  a  post.  Her  contempo- 
rary, Caterina  Sforza,  would  have  made  a  "chatelaine" 
as  vigilant,  as  prudent,  as  brave,  and  energetic  as  Cos- 
tanza. But  the  Neapolitan  lady  was  something  more 
than  this. 

Intellectual  culture  had  been  held  in  honor  at  Naples 


100  These  Splendid  Wofnen 

during  the  entire  period  of  the  Arragonese  dynasty.  All 
the  princes  of  that  house,  with  the  exception,  perhaps, 
of  Alphonso,  the  father  of  Ferdinand  II.,  had  been  lovers 
of  literature  and  patrons  of  learning.  Of  this  Ferdinand 
II.,  under  whose  auspices  the  young  Pescara  was  be- 
trothed to  Vittoria,  and  who  chose  the  Duchessa  di 
Francavilla  as  his  governor  in  Ischia,  it  is  recorded  that 
when  returning  in  triumph  to  his  kingdom  after  the 
retreat  of  the  French  he  rode  into  Naples  with  the 
Marchess  de  Pescara  on  his  right  hand,  and  the  poet 
Cariteo  on  his  left.  Poets  and  their  art  especially  were 
welcomed  in  that  literary  court ;  and  the  tastes  and  habits 
of  the  Neapolitan  nobles  were  at  that  period  probably 
more  tempered  by  those  studies,  which  humanize  the 
mind  and  manners,  than  the  chivalry  of  any  other  part  of 
Italy. 

Among  this  cultured  society  Costanza  d'Avalos  was 
eminent  for  culture,  and  admirably  qualified  in  every 
respect  to  make  an  invaluable  protectress  and  friend  to 
her  youthful  sister-in-law.  The  transplantation,  indeed, 
of  the  infant  Colonna  from  her  native  feudal  castle  to 
the  Duchessa  di  Francavilla's  home  in  Ischia  was  a  change 
so  complete  and  so  favorable  that  it  may  be  fairly  sup- 
posed that  without  it  the  young  Roman  girl  would  not 
have  grown  into  the  woman  she  did. 

For  in  truth,  Marino,  little  calculated,  as  it  will  be 
supposed  such  a  stronghold  of  the  ever  turbulent  Colonna 
was  to  afford  the  means  and  opportunity  for  intellectual 
culture,  became,  shortly  after  the  period  of  Vittoria's  be- 
trothal to  the  heir  of  the  D'Avalos,  wholly  unfit  to  offer 
her  even  a  safe  home.  Whether  it  continued  to  be  the  resi- 
dence of  Agnus,  while  her  husband  Fabrizio  was  fighting 
in  Naples  and  her  daughter  was  under  the  care  of  the 
Duchessa  di  Francavilla  in  Ischia,  has  not  been  recorded. 
But  we  find  that  when  Fabrizio  had  deserted  the  French 
King,  and  arranged  himself  on  the  side  of  Ferdinand  of 
Naples,  he  was  fully  aware  of  the  dangers  to  which  his 


These  Splendid  Women  101 

castle  would  be  exposed  at  the  hands  of  the  French  troops 
as  they  passed  through  Rome  on  their  way  to  or  from 
Naples.  To  provide  against  this,  he  had  essayed  to 
place  them  in  safety  by  consigning  them  as  a  deposit  in 
trust  to  the  Sacred  College.  But  Pope  Borgia,  deeming, 
probably  that  he  might  find  the  means  of  possessing  him- 
self some  of  the  estates  in  question,  refused  to  permit 
this,  ordering  that  they  should,  instead,  be  delivered  into 
his  keeping.  On  this  being  refused,  he  ordered  Marino 
to  be  leveled  to  the  ground.  And  Guicciardini  writes, 
that  the  Colonna,  having  placed  garrisons  in  Amelici  and 
Roca  di  Papa,  two  other  of  the  family  strongholds,  aban- 
doned all  the  rest  of  the  possessions  in  the  Roman  States. 
It  seems  probable,  therefore,  that  Agnus  accompanied  her 
husband  and  daughter  to  Naples.  Subsequently  the  same 
historian  relates  that  Marino  was  burned  by  order  of 
Clement  VII  in  1526,  so  that  it  must  be  supposed  that 
the  order  of  Alexander  for  its  utter  destruction  in  1501 
was  not  wholly  carried  into  execution. 

The  kingdom  and  city  of  Naples  was  during  this  time 
by  no  means  without  a  large  share  of  the  turmoil  and 
warfare  that  was  vexing  every  part  of  Italy.  Yet  who- 
soever had  his  lot  cast  during  these  years  elsewhere  than 
in  Rome  was  in  some  degree  fortunate.  And  considering 
the  general  state  of  the  peninsula  and  her  own  social 
position  and  connections,  Vittoria  may  be  deemed  very 
particularly  so,  to  have  found  a  safe  retreat  and  an  ad- 
mirably governed  home  on  the  rock  of  Ischia.  In  after 
life  we  find  her  clinging  to  it  with  tenacious  affection,  and 
dedicating  more  than  one  sonnet  to  the  remembrances 
which  made  it  sacred  to  her.  And  though  in  her  widow- 
hood her  memory  naturally  most  frequently  recurs  to  the 
happy  years  of  her  married  life  there,  the  remote  little 
island  had  at  least  a  strong  claim  upon  her  affection  as  the 
home  of  her  childhood.  For  to  the  years  there  passed  un- 
der the  care  of  her  noble  sister-in-law,  Costanza  d'Avalos, 
she  owed  the  possibility  that  the  daughter  of  a  Roman 


102  These  Splendid  Women ' 

chieftain  who  passed  his  life  in  han-ying  others  and  being 
harried  himself,  and  in  acquiring  as  a  "Condottiere" 
captain  the  reputation  of  one  of  the  first  soldiers  of  his 
day,  could  become  either  morally  or  intellectually  the 
woman  Vittoria  Colonna  became. 

From  the  time  of  her  bethrothal  in  1495  to  that  of 
her  marriage  in  1509,  history  altogether  loses  sight  of 
Vittoria.  We  must  suppose  her  to  be  quietly  and  happily 
growing  from  infancy  to  adolescence  under  the  roof  of 
Costanza  d'Avalos,  the  chatelaine  of  Ischia,  sharing  the 
studies  of  her  future  husband  and  present  playmate,  and 
increasing,  as  in  stature,  so  in  every  grace  both  of  mind 
and  body.  The  young  Pescara  seems  also  to  have  profited 
by  the  golden  opportunities  ofifered  him  of  becoming 
something  better  than  a  mere  preux  chevalier,  A  taste 
for  literature  and  especially  for  poesy,  was  then  a  ruling 
fashion  among  the  nobles  of  the  court  of  Naples.  And 
the  young  Ferdinand,  of  whose  personal  beauty  and 
knightly  accomplishments  we  hear  so  much,  manifested 
also  excellent  qualities  of  disposition  and  intelligence. 

Vittoria,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  concurrent  testimony 
of  nearly  all  the  poets  and  literateurs  of  her  day,  must 
have  been  beautiful  and  fascinating  in  no  ordinary  de- 
gree. The  most  authentic  portrait  of  her  is  one  pre- 
served in  the  Colonna  gallery  at  Rome,  supposed  to  be 
a  copy  by  Girolamo  Muziano,  from  an  original  picture 
by  some  artist  of  higher  note.  It  is  a  beautiful  face  of 
the  true  Roman  type,  perfectly  regular,  of  exceeding 
purity  of  outline,  and  perhaps  a  little  heavy  about  the 
lower  part  of  the  face.  But  the  calm,  large,  thoughtful 
eye,  and  the  superbly  developed  forehead,  secure  it  from 
any  approach  towards  an  expression  of  sensualism.  The 
fulness  of  the  lip  is  only  sufficient  to  indicate  that  sensi- 
tiveness to  and  appreciation  of  beauty,  which  constitutes 
an  essential  element  in  the  poetical  temperament.  The 
hair  is  of  that  bright  golden  tint  that  Titian  loved  so 
well  to  paint;  and  its  beauty  has  been  especially  recorded 


These  Splendid  Women  103 

by  more  than  one  of  her  contemporaries.  The  poet 
Galeazzo  da  Tarsia,  who  professed  himself,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  time,  her  most  fervent  admirer  and  devoted 
slave,  recurs  in  many  passages  of  his  poems  to  those  fas- 
cinating **chiome  d'oro;"  as  here  he  sings,  v^^ith  more 
enthusiasm  than  taste,  of  the 

"Trecce  d'or,  che  in  gli  alti  giri, 
Non  e  che'  unqua  pareggi  o  sole  o  Stella;" 

or  again  where  he  tells  us  that  the  sun  and  his  lady-love 
appeared 

"Ambi  con  chiome  d'or  lucide  e  terse." 

But  the  testimony  of  graver  writers,  lay  and  clerical, 
is  not  wanting  to  induce  us  to  believe  that  Vittoria,  in 
her  prime,  really  might  be  considered  "the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  of  her  day,"  with  more  truth  than  that  hack- 
neyed phrase  often  conveys.  So  when  at  length  the 
Colonna  seniors,  and  the  Duchessa  di  Francavilla  thought 
that  the  fitting  moment  had  arrived  for  carrying  into 
effect  the  long-standing  engagement — which  was  not  till 
1509,  when  the  promessi  sposi  were  both  in  their  nine- 
teenth year — the  young  couple  were  thoroughly  in  love 
with  each  other,  and  went  to  the  altar  with  every  pros- 
pect of  wedded  happiness. 

The  marriage  festival  was  held  in  Ischia  on  the  27th 
of  December,  1509,  with  all  the  pomp  then  usual  on  such 
.occasions;  and  that,  as  will  be  seen  in  a  subsequent  page, 
from  the  account  preserved  by  Passeri  of  another  wed- 
ding, at  which  Vittoria  was  present,  was  a  serious  matter. 
The  only  particulars  recorded  for  us  of  her  own  marriage 
ceremony  consist  of  two  lists  of  the  presents  reciprocally 
made  by  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  These  have  been 
printed  from  the  original  documents  in  the  Colonna 
archives,  by  Signor  Visconti,  and  are  curious  illustrations 
of  the  habits  and  manners  of  that  day. 

The  Marquis  acknowledges  to  have  received,  says  the 


104  These  Splendid  Women 

document,  from  the  Lord  Fabrizio  Colonna  and  the  Lady 
Vittoria : 

\.  A  bed  of  French  fashion,  with  the  curtains  and 
all  the  hangings  of  crimson  satin,  lined  with  blue  taffetas 
with  large  fringes  of  gold;  with  three  mattresses  and  a 
counterpane  of  crimson  satin  of  similar  workmanship; 
and  four  pillows  of  crimson  satin  garnished  with  fringes 
and  tassels  of  gold. 

2.  A  cloak  of  crimson  raised  brocade. 

3.  A  cloak  of  black  raised  brocade,  and  white  silk. 

4.  A  cloak  of  purple  velvet  and  purple  brocade. 

5.  A  cross  of  diamonds  and  a  housing  for  a  mule,  of 
wrought  gold. 

The  other  document  sets  forth  the  presents  offered  by 
Pescara  to  his  bride: 

L  A  cross  of  diamonds  with  a  chain  of  gold,  of  the 
value  of  1000  ducats  ($75,000). 

2.  A  ruby,  a  diamond,  and  an  emerald  set  in  gold,  of 
the  value  of  400  ducats  ($28,000). 

3.  A  "desciorgh"  of  gold  (whatever  that  may  be),  of 
the  value  of  one  hundred  ducats. 

4.  Twelve  bracelets  of  gold,  of  the  value  of  forty 
ducats. 

Then  follow  fifteen  articles  of  female  dress,  gowns, 
petticoats,  mantles,  skirts,  and  various  other  finery  with 
strange  names,  only  to  be  explained  by  the  ghost  of  some 
sixteenth-century  milliner,  and  altogether  ignored  by  Du- 
cange  and  all  other  lexicographers.  But  they  are  described 
as  composed  of  satin,  velvet,  brocade ;  besides  crimson 
velvet  trimmed  with  gold  fringe  and  lined  with  ermine, 
and  flesh-colored  silk  petticoats  trimmed  with  black  velvet. 
The  favorite  color  appears  to  be  decidedly  crimson. 

It  is  noticeable  that  while  all  the  more  valuable  presents 
of  Pescara  to  Vittoria  are  priced,  nothing  is  said  of  the 
value  of  her  gifts  to  the  bridegroom.  Are  we  to  see 
in  this  an  indication  of  a  greater  delicacy  of  feeling  on 
the  part  of  the  lady? 


These  Splendid  Wo??ien  105 

So  the  priests  did  their  office — a  part  of  the  celebra- 
tion, which,  curiously  enough,  we  learn  from  Passed, 
was  often,  in  those  days,  at  Naples,  deferred,  sometimes 
for  years,  till  after  the  consummation  of  the  marriage — 
the  Pantagruelian  f  eastings  were  got  through,  the  guests 
departed,  boat-load  after  boat-load,  from  the  rocky  shore 
of  Ischia ;  and  the  little  island,  restored  after  the  unusual 
hubbub  to  its  wonted  quiet,  was  left  to  be  the  scene  of 
as  happy  a  honeymoon  as  the  most  romantic  of  novel 
readers  could  wish  for  her  favorite  heroine. 

The  two  years  which  followed,  Vittoria  always  looked 
back  on  as  the  only  truly  happy  portion  of  her  life,  and 
many  are  the  passages  of  her  poems  which  recall  their 
tranquil  and  unbroken  felicity,  a  sweet  dream,  from  which 
she  was  too  soon  to  be  awakened  to  the  ordinary  vicissi- 
tudes of  sixteenth-century  life. 

Vittoria  continued  her  peaceful  and  quiet  life  in  Ischia, 
lonely  indeed,  as  far  as  the  dearest  affections  of  her 
heart  was  concerned,  but  cheered  and  improved  by  the 
society  of  that  select  knot  of  poets  and  men  of  learning 
whom  Costanza  di  Francavilla,  not  unassisted  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Vittoria,  attracted  to  her  little  island  court.  We 
find  Musefilo,  Filocalo,  Giovio,  Minturno,  Cariteo,  Rota, 
Sanazarro,  and  Bernardo  Tasso,  among  those  who 
helped  to  make  this  remote  rock  celebrated  throughout 
Europe  at  that  day  as  one  of  the  best-loved  haunts  of 
Apollo  and  the  muses,  to  speak  in  the  phraseology  of 
the  time. 

Many  among  them  have  left  passages  recording  the 
happy  days  spent  on  that  fortunate  island.  The  social 
circle  was  doubtless  a  charming  and  brilliant  one,  and  the 
more  so  as  contrasted  with  the  general  tone  and  habits 
of  the  society  of  the  period.  But  the  style  of  the  fol- 
lowing sonnet  by  Bernardo  Tasso,  selected  by  Visconti 
as  a  specimen  of  the  various  effusions  by  members  of 
the  select  circle  upon  the  subject,  while  it  accurately  il- 
lustrates the  prevailing  modes  of  thought  and  diction  of 


106  These  Splendid  IV omen 

that  period,  will  hardly  fail  to  suggest  the  idea  of  a 
comparison — mutatis  mutandis — between  this  company  of 
sixteenth  century  choice  spirits  and  that  which  assembled 
and  provoked  so  severe  a  lashing  in  the  memorable 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  more  than  a  hundred  years  after- 
ward. But  an  Italian  Moliere  is  as  wholly  impossible  in 
the  nature  of  things  as  a  French  Dante.  And  the  six- 
teenth century  swarm  of  Petrarchists  and  Classicists 
have,  unhke  true  prophets,  found  honor  in  their  own 
country. 

Gentle  Bernardo  celebrates  in  this  wise  these  famed 
Ischia  meetings ;  which  may  be  thus  "done  into  English" 
for  the  sake  of  giving  those  unacquainted  with  original 
Italian  some  tolerably  accurate  idea  of  Messer  Bernardo's 
euphuisms : 

"Proud  rock !  the  loved  retreat  of  such  a  band 

Of  earth's  best,  noblest,  greatest,  that  their  light 
Pales  other  glories  to  the  dazzled  sight, 
And  like  a  beacon  shines  throughout  the  land; 
If  truest  worth  can  reach  the  perfect  state. 

And  man  may  hope  to  merit  heavenly  rest, 
Those  whom  thou  harborest  in  thy  rocky  breast, 
First  in  the  race  will  reach  the  heavenl}'-  gate. 
Glory  of  martial  deeds  is  thine.     In  thee, 

Brightest  the  world  e'er  saw,  or  heaven  gave, 
Dwell  chastest  beauty,  worth,  and  courtesy! 
Well  be  it  with  thee!     May  both  wind  and  sea 

Respect  thee :  and  thy  native  air  and  wave 
Be  temper'd  ever  by  a  genial  sky  1" 

Such  is  the  poetry  of  one  of  the  brightest  of  stars  of 
the  Ischian  galaxy ;  and  the  incredulous  reader  is  assured 
that  it  would  be  easy  to  find  much  worse  sonnets  by  the 
ream  among  the  extant  productions  of  the  crowd  who 
were  affected  with  the  prevalent  Petrarch  mania  of  that 
epoch.  The  statistical  returns  of  the  ravages  of  this 
malady,  given  by  the  poetical  registrar — general  Cres- 
cimbeni,  would  astonish  even  Paternoster  Row  at  the 
present  day.  But  Victoria  Colonna,  though  a  great 
number  of  her  sonnets  do  not  rise  above  the  level  of 


These  Splendid  Women  107 

Bernardo  Tasso  in  the  foregoing  specimen,  could  oc- 
casionally, especially  in  her  later  years,  reach  a  much 
higher  tone,  as  will,  it  is  hoped,  be  shown  in  future  pages. 

In  October  of  1522  Pescara  made  a  flying  visit  to  his 
wife  and  home.  He  was  with  her  three  days  only,  and 
then  hastened  back  to  the  army.  It  was  the  last  time 
she  ever  saw  him.  Pescara  received  three  wounds,  though 
none  of  them  serious,  in  a  battle.  He  obtained 
the  rank  of  generalissimo  of  the  imperial  forces  in  Italy, 
In  the  latter  end  of  that  year  he  fell  into  a  state  of  health 
which  seems  to  have  been  not  well  accounted  for  by  the 
medical  science  of  that  day.  The  wounds  he  had  received 
at  Pavia  in  the  previous  February  are  specially  described 
by  Passeri  as  having  been  very  slight.  It  seems  clearly 
to  have  been  of  the  nature  of  a  sudden  and  premature 
decay  of  all  the  vital  forces. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year  he  abandoned  all  hope 
of  recovery,  and  sent  to  his  wife  to  desire  her  to  come 
to  him  with  all  speed.  He  was  then  at  Milan.  She  set 
out  instantly  on  her  painful  journey,  and  had  reached 
Viterbo  on  her  way  northward  when  she  was  met  by 
the  news  of  his  death. 

Thus  Vittoria  became  a  widow  in  the  thirty-sixth  year 
of  her  age.  She  was  still  in  the  full  pride  of  her  beauty, 
as  contemporary  writers  assert,  and  as  two  extant  medals, 
struck  at  Milan  shortly  before  her  husband's  death,  attest. 
One  of  them  presents  the  bust  of  Pescara  on  the  ob- 
verse, and  that  of  Vittoria  on  the  reverse ;  the  other  has 
the  same  portrait  of  her  on  the  obverse,  and  a  military 
trophy  on  the  reverse.  The  face  presented  is  a  very 
beautiful  one,  and  seen  thus  in  profile  is  perhaps  more 
pleasing  than  the  portrait,  which  has  been  spoken  of  in 
a  previous  chapter.  She  was,  moreover,  even  now  prob- 
ably the  most  celebrated  woman  in  Italy,  although  she 
had  done  little  as  yet  to  achieve  that  immense  reputation 
which  awaited  her  a  few  years  later.  Very  few,  prob- 
ably, of  her  sonnets  were  written  before  the  death  of  her 


108  These  Splendid  Women 

husband.  But  the  exalted  rank  and  prominent  position 
of  her  own  family,  the  high  military  grade  of  her  hus- 
band, the  widespread  hopes  and  fears  of  which  he  had 
recently  been  the  center  in  the  affairs  of  the  conspiracy, 
joined  to  the  fame  of  her  talents,  learning  and  virtues, 
which  had  been  made  the  subject  of  enthusiastic  praise 
by  nearly  all  the  Ischian  knot  of  poets  and  wits,  rendered 
her  a  very  conspicuous  person  in  the  eyes  of  all  Italy. 
Her  husband's  premature  and  unexpected  death  added 
a  source  of  interest  of  yet  another  kind  of  person.  A 
young,  beautiful  and  very  wealthy  widow  gave  rise  to 
quite  as  many  hopes,  speculations,  and  designs  in  the 
sixteenth  century  as  in  any  other. 

Here  is  a  sonnet,  which  was  probably  written  at  the 
time  of  her  return  to  Ischia  in  1527;  when  the  sight  of 
all  the  well-beloved  scenery  of  the  home  of  her  happy 
years  must  have  brought  to  her  mind  Dante's — 

"Nessun  maggior  dolore 
Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
Nella  miseria!" 

Thus  Vittoria  looks  back  on  the  happy  time: 

"On  what  smooth  seas,  on  what  clear  waves  did  sail 

My  fresh  careened  bark!  what  costly  freight 

Of  noble  merchandise  adorn'd  its  state! 
How  pure  the  breeze,  how  favoring  the  gale! 
And  Heaven,  which  now  its  beauteous  rays  doth  veil, 

Shone  then  serene  and  shadowless.    But  fate 

For  the  too  happy  voyager  lies  in  wait. 
Oft  fair  beginnings  in  their  endings  fail. 
And  now  doth  impious   changeful    fortune  bare 

Her  angry  ruthless  brow,  whose  threat'ning  power 

Rouses  the  tempest,  and  lets  loose  its  war 
But  though  rains,  winds,  and  lightnings  fill  the  air, 

And  wild  beasts  seek  to  rend  me  and  devour, 
Still  shines  o'er  my  true  soul  its  faithful  star." 

In  considering  the  collection  of  117  sonnets  from  which 
the  above  specimen  has  been  selected,  and  which  were 


These  Splendid  Women  109 

probably  the  product  of  about  seven  or  eight  years,  from 
1526  to  1533-4  (in  one  she  laments  that  the  seventh  year 
from  her  husband's  death  should  have  brought  with  it 
no  alleviation  of  her  grief),  the  most  interesting  question 
that  suggests  itself  is,  whether  we  are  to  suppose  the 
sentiments  expressed  in  them  to  be  genuine  outpourings 
of  the  heart,  or  rather  to  consider  them  all  as  part  of 
the  professional  equipment  of  a  poet,  earnest  only  in  the 
work  of  achieving  a  high  and  brilliant  poetical  reputation? 
The  question  is  a  prominent  one,  as  regards  the  concrete 
notion  to  be  formed  of  the  sixteenth-century  woman,  Vit- 
toria  Colonna;  and  is  not  without  interest  as  bearing  on 
the  great  subject  of  woman's  nature. 

Vittoria's  moral  conduct,  both  as  a  wife  and  as  a 
widow,  was  wholly  irreproachable.  A  mass  of  concurrent 
temporary  testimony  seems  to  leave  no  doubt  whatever  on 
this  point.  More  than  one  of  the  poets  of  her  day  pro- 
fessed themselves  her  ardent  admirers,  devoted  slaves, 
and  despairing  lovers,  according  to  the  most  approved 
poetical  and  Platonic  fashion  of  the  time;  and  she  received 
their  inflated  bombast  not  unpleased  with  the  incense,  and 
answered  them  with  other  bombast,  all  en  regie  and  in 
character.  The  "carte  de  tendre"  was  then  laid  down  on 
the  Platonic  projection;  and  the  sixteenth-century  fashion 
in  this  respect  was  made  a  convenient  screen,  for  those 
to  whom  a  screen  was  needful,  quite  as  frequently  as 
the  less  classical  whimsies  of  a  later  period.  But  Platonic 
love  to  Vittoria  was  merely  an  occasion  for  indulging 
in  the  spiritualistic  pedantries  by  which  the  classicists 
of  that  day  sought  to  link  the  infant  metaphysical  specula- 
tions, then  beginning  to  grow  out  of  questions  of  church 
doctrine,  with  the  ever-interesting  subject  of  romantic 
love.  Vittoria,  when  she  began  to  write  on  religious 
subjects,  was  more  in  earnest;  and  the  result,  as  we  shall 
see,  is  accordingly  improved. 

The  noble  rivalry  of  Francis  I.  and  Charles  V.  was 
again,  in  1530,  making  Naples  a  field  of  glory  in  such  sort 


110  These  splendid  Wo?nen 

that  outraged  nature  appeared  also  on  the  scene  with  pes- 
tilence in  her  hand.  The  first  infliction  had  driven  most 
of  the  literary  society  in  Naples  to  take  refuge  in  the 
comparative  security  of  Ischia.  The  latter  calamity  had 
reached  even  that  retreat ;  and  Vittoria  some  time  in  that 
year  again  visited  Rome  and  resided  during  her  stay  there 
with  Donna  Giovanna  d'Aragona,  her  sister-in-law.  Paul 
III.,  Farnese,  had  succeeded  Clement  in  the  chair  of  St. 
Peter;  and  though  Paul  was  on  many  accounts  very  far 
from  being  a  good  pope  or  a  good  priest,  yet  the  Farnese 
was  an  improvement  on  the  Medici.  As  ever,  Rome  began 
to  show  signs  of  improvement  when  danger  to  her  system 
from  without  began  to  make  itself  felt.  Paul  seems  very 
soon  to  have  become  convinced  that  the  general  council, 
which  had  been  so  haunting  a  dread  to  Clement  during 
the  whole  of  his  pontificate,  could  no  longer  be  avoided. 
But  it  was  still  hoped  in  the  council  chambers  of  the 
Vatican,  that  the  doctrinal  difficulties  of  the  German  re- 
formers which  threatened  the  church  with  so  fatal  a 
schism,  might  be  got  over  by  conciliation  and  dexterous 
theological  diplomacy.  As  soon  as  it  became  evident  that 
this  hope  was  vain,  fear  began  to  influence  the  papal 
policy,  and  at  its  bidding  the  ferocious  persecuting  bigotry 
of  Paul  IV.  was  contrasted  with  the  shameless  profligacy 
of  Alexander,  the  epicurean  indifferentism  of  Leo,  and 
the  pettifogging  worldliness  of  Clement. 

Accordingly,  we  are  told  that  her  stay  in  Rome  on  this 
occasion  was  a  continued  ovation;  and  Signor  Visconti 
informs  us,  on  the  authority  of  the  Neapolitan  historian, 
Gregorio  Rosso,  that  Charles  V.,  being  then  in  Rome, 
condescended  to  visit  in  their  own  house  the  ladies 
Giovanna  di'  Aragona,  wife  of  Ascanio  Colonna,  and  Vit- 
toria Colonna,  Marchesa  di  Pescara." 

The  following  year  she  went,  Visconti  says,  to  Lucca, 
from  which  city  she  passed  to  Ferrara,  arriving  there  on 
the  8th  of  April,  "in  humble  guise,  with  six  waiting- 
women  only."    Ercole  d'Este,  the  second  of  the  name,  was 


These  Splendid  Women  111 

then  the  reigning  duke,  having  succeeded  to  his  father  Al- 
phonso  in  1534.  And  the  court  of  Ferrara,  which  had 
been  for  several  years  pre-eminent  among  the  principali- 
ties of  Italy  for  its  love  of  literature  and  its  patronage 
of  literary  men,  became  yet  more  notably  so  in  conse- 
quence of  the  marriage  of  Hercules  II.  w^ith  Renee  of 
France,  the  daughter  of  Louis  XII.  The  Protestant 
tendencies  and  sympathies  of  this  princess  had  rendered 
Ferrara  also  the  resort,  and  in  some  instances  the  refuge, 
of  many  professors  and  favorers  of  the  new  ideas  which 
were  beginning  to  stir  the  mind  of  Italy.  And  though 
Vittoria's  orthodox  Catholic  biographers  are  above  all 
things  anxious  to  clear  her  from  all  suspicion  of  having 
ever  held  opinions  eventually  condemned  by  the  church, 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  her  journey  to  Fer- 
rara was  prompted  by  the  wish  to  exchange  ideas  upon 
these  subjects  with  some  of  those  leading  minds  which 
were  known  to  have  imbibed  Protestant  tendencies,  if  not 
to  have  acquired  fully  formed  Protestant  convictions.  It 
is  abundantly  clear,  from  the  character  of  her  friendships, 
from  her  correspondence,  and  from  the  tone  of  her  poetry 
at  this  period,  and  during  the  remainder  of  her  life,  that 
her  mind  was  absorbingly  occupied  with  topics  of  this 
nature.  And  the  short  examination  of  the  latter  division 
of  her  works,  will  probably  convince  such  as  have  no 
partisan  Catholic  feelings  on  the  subject,  that  Vittoria's 
mind  had  made  very  considerable  progress  in  the  Prot- 
estant direction. 

The  reader  fortunate  enough  to  be  wholly  unread  in 
controversial  divinity  will  yet  probably  not  have  escaped 
hearing  of  the  utterly  interminable  disputes  on  justifica- 
tion, free-will,  election,  faith,  good  works,  prevenient 
grace,  original  sin,  absolute  decrees,  and  predestination, 
which,  with  much  of  evil,  and  as  yet  little  good  conse- 
quence, have  occupied  the  most  acute  intellects  and  most 
learning-stored  brains  of  Europe  for  the  last  three  cen- 
turies.    Without  any  accurate  knowledge  of  the  manner 


112  These  Splendid  Women 

in  which  the  doctrines  represented  by  these  familiar  terms 
are  dependent  on,  and  necessitated  by,  each  other,  and  of 
the  precise  point  on  which  the  opposing  creeds  have 
fought  this  eternal  battle,  he  will  be  aware  that  the 
system  popularly  known  as  Calvinism  represents  the  side 
of  the  question  taken  by  the  reformers  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  while  the  opposite  theory  of  justification  by  good 
works  was  that  held  by  the  orthodox  Catholic  Church,  or 
unreforming  party.  And  with  merely  these  general  ideas 
to  guide  him,  it  will  appear  strangely  unaccountable  to 
find  all  the  best,  noblest,  and  purest  minds  adopting  a 
system  which  in  its  simplest  logical  development  inevitably 
leads  to  the  most  debasing  demonolatry,  and  lays  the 
axe  to  the  root  of  all  morality  and  noble  action;  while 
the  corrupt,  the  worldly,  the  ambitious,  the  unspiritual, 
the  unintellectual  natures  that  formed  the  dominant  party, 
held  the  opposite  opinion,  apparently  so  favorable  to 
virtue. 

An  explanation  of  this  phenomenon  by  a  partisan  of 
either  school  would  probably  be  long  and  somewhat  in- 
tricate. But  the  matter  becomes  intelligible  enough,  and 
the  true  key  to  the  wishes  and  conduct  of  both  parties  is 
found,  if,  without  regarding  the  moral  or  theological  re- 
sults of  either  scheme,  or  troubling  ourselves  with  the 
subtleties  by  which  either  side  sought  to  meet  the  objec- 
tions of  the  other,  we  consider  sim.ply  the  bearings  of 
the  new  doctrines  on  that  ecclesiastical  system,  which  the 
orthodox  and  dominant  party  were  determined  at  all  cost 
to  support. 

Indeed,  even  among  the  reformers  in  Italy  the  fear  of 
schism  was  so  great,  and  the  value  attached  to  church 
unity  so  high,  that  these  considerations  probably  did  as 
much  toward  checking  and  finally  extinguishing  Prot- 
estantism in  Italy  as  did  the  strong  hand  of  persecution. 
From  the  first,  many  of  the  most  earnest  advocates  of 
the  new  doctrines  were  by  no  means  prepared  to  sever 
themselves  from  the  Church  for  the  sake  of  their  opinions. 


These  splendid  Women  113 

Some  were  ready  to  face  such  schism  and  martyrdom 
also  in  the  cause ;  as,  for  instance,  Bernardino  Ochino,  the 
General  of  the  Capuchins,  and  the  most  powerful  preacher 
of  his  day,  who  fled  from  Italy  and  became  a  professed 
Protestant,  and  Carnesecchi,  the  Florentine,  who  was  put 
to  death  for  his  heresy  at  Rome. 

But  it  had  not  yet  become  clear  how  far  the  new  doc- 
trines might  be  held  compatibly  with  perfect  community 
with  the  Church  of  Rome  at  the  time  when  Vittoria  ar- 
rived in  that  city  from  Ferrara.  The  conference  with 
the  German  Protestants,  by  means  of  which  it  was  hoped 
to  effect  a  reconciliation,  was  then  being  arranged,  and 
the  hopes  of  Vittoria's  friends  ran  high.  When  these 
hopes  proved  delusive,  and  when  Rome  pronounced  her- 
self decisively  on  the  doctrines  held  by  the  Italian  re- 
formers, the  most  conspicuous  friends  of  Vittoria  did 
not  quit  the  church.  She  herself  writes  ever  as  its  sub- 
missive and  faithful  daughter.  But  as  to  her  having 
held  opinions  which  were  afterward  declared  heretical, 
and  for  which  others  suffered,  much  of  her  poetry,  writ- 
ten probably  about  this  time,  affords  evidence  so  clear 
that  it  is  wonderful  Tiraboschi  and  her  biographers  can 
deem  it  possible  to  maintain  her  orthodoxy. 

Take,  for  example,  the  following  sonnet,  thus  rendered 
into  English  blank  verse,  with  a  greater  closeness  to  the 
original  than  might  perhaps  have  been  attained  in  a  trans- 
lation hampered  by  the  necessity  of  rhyming: 

"When  I  reflect  on  that  bright  noble  ray 
Of  grace  divine,  and  on  that  mighty  power, 
Which  clears  the  intellect,  inflames  the  heart 
With  virtue,  strong  with  more  than  human  strength, 
My  soul  then  gathers  up  her  will,  intent 
To  render  to  that  Power  the  honor  due; 
But  only  so  much  can  she,  as  free  grace 
Gives  her  to  feel  and  know  th'  inspiring  fire. 
Thus  can  the  soul  her  high  election  make 
Fruitful  and  sure;  but  only  to  such  point 
As,  in  his  goodness,  wills  the  Fount  of  good. 


1 14  These  Splendid  Women 

Nor  art  nor  industry  can  speed  her  course; 

He  most  securely  and  alertly  runs 

Who  most  by  Heaven's  free  favor  is  upheld." 

The  leading  points  of  the  Calvinistic  doctrine  could 
hardly  be  in  the  limits  of  a  sonnet  more  clearly  and  com- 
prehensively stated. 

And  again,  in  the  following  sonnet  will  be  remarked 
a  tone  of  thought  and  style  of  phrase  perfectly  con- 
genial to  modern  devotional  feeling  of  what  is  termed  the 
evangelical  school ;  while  it  is  assuredly  not  such  as  would 
meet  the  approval  of  orthodox  members  of  either  Roman 
Catholic  or  Anglo-Catholic  churches;  thus  rendered  into 
English : 

"When  by  the  light,  whose  living  ray  both  peace 
And  joy  to  faithful  bosoms  doth  impart, 
The   indurated   ice,   around   the   heart 

So  often  gather'd,  is  dissolved  through  grace, 

Beneath  that  blessed  radiance  from  above 

Falls  from  me  the  dark  mantle  of  my  sin; 
Sudden  I  stand  forth  pure  and  radiant  in 

The  garb  of  primal  innocence  and  love. 

And  though  I  strive  with  lock  and  trusty  key 
To  keep  that  ray,  so  subtle  'tis  and  coy, 
By  one  low  thought  'tis  scared  and  put  to  flight. 
So  flies  it  from  me.     I  in  sorrowing  plight 
Remain,  and  pray,  that  he  from  base  alloy 

May  purge  me,  so  the  light  come  sooner  back  to  me." 

Here,  in  addition  to  the  "point  of  doctrine"  laid  down 
in  the  previous  sonnet,  we  have  that  sudden  and  instan- 
taneous conversion  and  sanctification ;  and  that  without 
any  aid   from  sacrament,  altar,  or  priest. 

Similar  thoughts  are  again  expressed  in  the  next  sonnet 
selected,  which  in  Signor  Visconti's  edition  immediately 
follows  the  preceding: 

"Feeling  new  force  to  conquer  primal  sin, 

Yet  all  in  vain  I  spread  my  wings  to  thee 
My  light,  until  the  air  around  shall  be^ 

Made  clear  for  me  by  thy  warm  breath  within. 

That  mortal  works  should   reach  the  infinite 


These  splendid  Women  115 

Is  thy  work,  Lord!     For  in  a  moment  Thou 
Cans't  give  them  work.     Left  to  myself  I  know 

My  thought  would  fall,  when  at  its  utmost  height. 
I  long  for  that  clear  radiance  above 

That  puts  to  flight  all  clouds;  and  that  bright  flame 
Which  secret  burning  warms  the  pagan  soul; 

So  that  set  free  from  every  mortal  aim, 
And  all  intent  alone  on  heavenly  love, 
She  flies  with  stronger  pinion  toward  her  goal." 

The  readers  of  the  foregoing  sonnets  will  prob- 
ably have  wondered  at  the  greatness  of  the  poetical 
reputation,  which  was  built  out  of  such  materials.  It  is 
but  fair,  however,  to  the  poetess  to  state,  that  the  citations 
have  been  selected,  rather  with  the  view  of  decisively- 
proving  these  Protestant  leanings  of  Vittoria,  which  have 
been  so  eagerly  denied,  and  of  illustrating  the  tone  of 
Italian  Protestant  feeling  at  that  period,  than  of  pre- 
senting the  most  favorable  specimens  of  her  poetry. 
However  fitly  devotional  feeling  may  be  clothed  in  poetry 
of  the  highest  order,  controversial  divinity  is  not  a  happy 
subject  for  verse.  And  Vittoria,  on  the  comparatively 
rare  occasions,  when  she  permits  herself  to  escape  from 
the  consideration  of  disputed  dogma,  can  make  a  nearer 
approach  to  true  poetry  of  thought  and  expression. 

In  the  following  sonnet,  the  more  subjective  tone  of 
her  thought  affords  us  an  autobiographical  glimpse  of  her 
state  of  mind  on  religious  subjects.  We  find  that  the 
new  tenets  which  she  had  imbibed  had  failed  to  give  her 
peace  of  mind.  That  comfortable  security,  and  undoubt- 
ing  satisfied  tranquillity,  procured  for  the  mass  of  her 
orthodox  contemporaries,  by  the  due  performance  of  their 
fasts,  vigils,  penitences,  etc.,  was  not  attained  for  Vit- 
toria by  a  creed,  which  required  her,  as  she  here  tells  us, 
to  stifle  the  suggestions  of  her  reason. 

"Had  I  with  heavenly  arms  'gainst  self  and  sense 
And  human  reason  waged  successful  war, 
Then  with  a  different  spirit  soaring  far 

I'd  fly  the  world's  vain  glory  and  pretence. 

Then  soaring  thought  on  wings  of  faith  might  rise. 


116  These  Splendid  Women 

Armed  by  a  hope  no  longer  vain  or  frail, 
Far  from  the  madness  of  this  earthly  vale, 

Led  by  true  virtue  toward  its  native  skies. 

That  better  aim  is  ever  in  my  sight, 
Of  man's  existence;  but  not  yet  'tis  mine 
To  speed  sure-footed  on  the  happy  way. 
Signs  the  rising  sun  and  coming  day 
I  see;  but  enter  not  the  courts  divine 

Whose  holy  portals  lead  to  perfect  light." 

There  is  every  reason  to  feel  satisfied,  both  from  such 
records  as  we  have  of  her  life  and  from  the  perfectly- 
agreeing  testimony  of  her  contemporaries,  that  the  tenor 
of  her  ovi^n  hfe  and  conduct  was  not  only  blameless  but 
marked  by  the  consistent  exercise  of  many  noble  virtues. 
But,  much  as  we  hear  from  the  lamentations  of  preach- 
ers of  the  habitual  tendency  of  human  conduct  to  fall 
short  of  human  professions,  the  opposite  phenomena  ex- 
hibited by  men,  whose  intuitive  moral  sense  is  superior 
to  the  teaching  derivable  from  their  creed,  is  perhaps  quite 
as  common.  That  band  of  eminent  men,  who  were  espe- 
cially known  as  the  maintainers  and  defenders  of  the 
peculiar  tenets  held  by  Vittoria,  were  unquestionably  in 
all  respects  the  best  and  noblest  of  their  age  and  country. 
Yet  their  creed  was  assuredly  an  immoral  one.  And  in 
the  rare  passages  of  our  poetess's  writings  in  which  a 
glimpse  of  moral  theory  can  be  discerned,  the  low  and 
unenlightened  nature  of  it  is  such  as  to  prove  that  the 
heaven-taught  heart  reached  purer  heights  than  the  creed- 
taught  intelligence  could  attain. 

Vittoria  Colonna  has  survived  in  men's  memory  as  a 
poetess.  But  she  is  far  more  interesting  to  the  historical 
student,  who  would  obtain  a  full  understanding  of  that 
wonderful  sixteenth  century,  as  a  Protestant.  Her  highly 
gifted  and  richly  cultivated  intelligence,  her  great  social 
position,  and  above  all,  her  close  intimacy  with  the  emi- 
nent men  who  most  strove  to  set  on  foot  an  Italian 
reformation  which  should  not  be  incompatible  with  the 
papacy,  make  the  illustration  of  her  religious  opinions  a 


These  splendid  Women  117 

matter  of  no  slight  historical  interest.  And  the  bulk  of 
the  citations  from  her  works  has  accordingly  been  selected 
with  this  view.  But  it  is  fair  to  her  reputation  to  give  one 
sonnet  at  least,  chosen  for  no  other  reason  than  its  merit. 
The  following,  written  apparently  on  the  anniversary 
of  our  Saviour's  crucifixion,  is  certainly  one  of  the  best, 
if  not  the  best,  in  the  collection : 

"The  angels  to  eternal  bliss  preferred, 

Long  on  this  day,  a  painful  death  to  die, 
Lest  in  the  heavenly  mansions  of  the  sky 

The  servant  be  more  favored  than  his  Lord. 

Man's  ancient  mother  weeps  the  deed,  this  day 
That  shut  the  gates  of  heaven  against  her  race. 
Weeps  the  two  pierced  hands,  whose  work  of  grace, 

Refinds  the  path,  from  which  she  made  man  stray. 

The  sun  his  ever-burning  ray  doth  veil ; 
Earth  and  sky  tremble;  ocean  quakes  amain, 
And  mountains  gape,  and  living  rocks  are  torn. 

The  fiends,  on  watch  for  human  evil,  wail 
The  added  weight  of  their  restraining  chain. 
Man  only  weeps  not ;  yet  was  weeping  born." 

As  the  previous  extracts  from  the  works  of  Vittoria 
have  been,  as  has  been  stated,  selected  principally  with 
a  view  to  prove  her  Protestantism,  it  is  fair  to  observe 
that  there  are  several  sonnets  addressed  to  the  Virgin 
Mary,  and  some  to  various  saints,  from  which  (though 
they  are  wholly  free  from  any  allusion  to  the  grosser 
superstitions  that  Rome  encourages  her  faithful  disciples 
to  connect  with  these  personages)  it  is  yet  clear  that  the 
writer  believed  in  the  value  of  saintly  intercession  at  the 
throne  of  grace.  It  is  also  worth  remarking,  that  she 
nowhere  betrays  the  smallest  consciousness  that  she  is 
differing  in  opinion  from  the  recognized  tenets  of  the 
Church,  unless  it  is  found,  as  was  before  suggested,  in 
an  occasional  obscurity  of  phrase,  which  seems  open  to 
the  suspicion  of  having  been  intentional. 

The  majority  of  these  poems,  however,  were  in  all 
probability  composed  before  the  Church  had  entered  on 


^118  These  Splendid  Women 

hef  new  career  of  persecution.  And  as  regards  the  ever- 
recurring  leading  point  of  "justification  by  grace",  it  was 
impossible  to  say  exactly  how  far  it  was  orthodox  to  go 
in  the  statement  of  this  tenet,  until  Rome  had  finally  de- 
cided her  doctrine  by  the  decrees  of  the  "Council  of 
Trent." 

One  other  remark,  which  will  hardly  fail  to  suggest 
itself  to  the  modern  reader  of  Vittoria's  poetry,  may  be 
added  respecting  these  once  celebrated  and  enthusiastically 
received  works.  There  is  not  to  be  discovered  through- 
out the  whole  of  them  one  spark  of  Italian  patriotic  feel- 
ing. The  absence  of  any  such,  must  undoubtedly  be  re- 
garded only  as  a  confirmation  of  the  fact  asserted  in  the 
previous  pages,  that  no  sentiment  of  the  kind  was  then 
known  in  Italy.  In  that  earlier  portion  of  her  works, 
which  is  occupied  almost  exclusively  with  her  husband's 
praises,  it  is  hardly  possible  that  the  expression  of  such 
feelings  should  have  found  no  place,  had  they  existed  in 
her  mind.  But  it  is  a  curious  instance  of  the  degree  to 
which  even  the  better  intellects  of  an  age  are  blinded  by 
and  made  subservient  to  the  tone  of  feeling  and  habits  of 
thoughts  prevalent  around  them,  it  never  occurs  to  this 
pure  and  lofty  minded  Vittoria,  in  celebrating  the  prow- 
ess of  her  hero,  to  give  a  thought  to  the  cause  for  which 
he  was  drawing  the  sword.  To  prevail,  to  be  the  stronger, 
"to  take  great  cities,"  "to  rout  the  foe"  appears  to  be  all 
that  her  beau  ideal  of  heroism  required. 

Wrong  is  done,  and  the  strong-handed  doer  of  it  ad- 
mired, the  moral  sense  is  blunted  by  the  cowardly  worship 
of  success,  and  might  takes  from  right  the  suffrages  of 
the  public,  in  the  nineteenth  as  in  the  sixteenth  century. 
But  the  contemplation  of  the  total  absence  from  such  a 
mind  as  that  of  Vittoria  Colonna,  of  a  recognition  of  a 
right  and  a  wrong  in  such  matters,  furnishes  highly 
instructive  evidence  of  the  reality  of  the  moral  progress 
mankind  has  achieved. 

Vittoria  arrived  in  Rome  from  Ferrara  in  all  probability 


These  Splendid  Women  1 19 

about  the  end  of  the  year  1537.  She  was  now  in  the 
zenith  of  her  reputation.  The  learned  and  elegant  Bembo 
writes  of  her  that  he  considered  her  poetical  judgment  as 
sound  and  authoritative  as  that  of  the  greatest  masters  of 
the  art  of  song.  Guidiccioni,  the  poetical  Bishop  of  Fos- 
sombrone,  and  of  Paul  III.'s  ablest  diplomatists,  declares 
that  the  ancient  glory  of  Tuscany  had  altogether  passed 
into  Latium  in  her  person ;  and  sends  her  sonnets  of  his 
own,  with  earnest  entreaties  that  she  will  point  out  the 
faults  of  them.  Veronica  Gambara,  herself  a  poetess  of 
merit  perhaps  not  inferior  to  that  of  Vittoria,  professed 
herself  her  most  ardent  admirer,  and  engaged  Rinaldo 
Corso  to  write  the  commentary  on  her  poems,  which  he 
executed  as  we  have  seen.  Bernardo  Tasso  made  her 
the  subject  of  several  of  his  poems.  Giovio  dedicated 
to  her  his  life  of  Pescara,  and  Cardinal  Pompeo  Colonna 
his  book  on  "The  Praises  of  Women;"  and  Contarini 
paid  her  the  far  more  remarkable  compliment  of  dedicat- 
ing to  her  his  work,  "On  Free  Will." 

Paul  III.  was,  as  Muratori  says,  by  no  means  well  dis- 
posed toward  the  Colonna  family.  Yet  Vittoria  must  have 
had  influence  with  the  haughty  and  severe  old  Farnese. 
For  both  Bembo  and  Fregoso,  the  Bishop  of  Naples, 
have  taken  occasion  to  acknowledge  that  they  owed  their 
promotion  to  the  purple  in  great  measure  to  her. 

But  the  most  noteworthy  event  of  this  period  of  Vit- 
toria's  life,  was  the  commencement  of  her  acquaintance 
with  Michael  Angelo  Buonarroti.  That  great  man  was 
then  in  his  63d  year,  while  the  poetess  was  in  her  47th. 
The  acquaintanceship  grew  rapidly  into  a  close  and  dur- 
able friendship,  which  lasted  during  the  remainder  of  Vit- 
toria's  life.  It  was  a  friendship  eminently  honorable  to 
both  of  them.  Michael  Angelo  was  a  man  whose  in- 
fluence on  his  age  was  felt  and  acknowledged,  while  he 
was  yet  living  and  exercising  it  to  a  degree  rarely  observ- 
able even  in  the  case  of  the  greatest  minds.  He  had,  at 
the  time  in  question,  already  reached  the  zenith  of  his 


120  These  Splendid  Women 

fame,  although  he  lived  to  witness  and  enjoy  it  for  an- 
other quarter  of  a  century.  He  was  a  man  formed  by 
nature,  and  already  habituated  by  the  social  position  his 
contemporaries  had  accorded  to  him,  to  mould  men — not 
to  be  moulded  by  them — not  a  smooth  or  pHable  man; 
rugged  rather,  self-relying,  self-concentrated,  and,  though 
full  of  kindness  for  those  who  needed  kindness,  almost 
a  stern  man ;  no  courtier,  though  accustomed  to  the  society 
of  courts ;  and  apt  to  consider  courtier-like  courtesies  and 
habitudes  as  impertinent  impediments  to  the  requirements 
of  his  high  calling,  to  be  repressed  rather  than  conde- 
scended to.  Yet  the  strong  and  kingly  nature  of  this  high- 
souled  old  man  was  moulded  into  new  form  by  contact 
with  that  of  the  comparatively  youthful  poetess. 

The  religious  portion  of  the  great  artist's  nature  had 
scarcely  shaped  out  for  itself  any  more  defined  and  sub- 
stantial form  of  expression  than  a  worship  of  the  beauti- 
ful in  spirit  as  well  as  in  matter.  By  Vittoria  he  was 
made  a  devout  Christian.  The  change  is  strongly  marked 
in  his  poetry ;  and  in  several  passages  of  the  poems,  four 
or  five  in  number,  addressed  to  her,  he  attributes  it  en- 
tirely to  her  influence. 

Some  silly  stuff  has  been  written  by  very  silly  writers, 
by  way  of  imparting  the  "interesting"  character  of  a 
helle  passion,  more  or  less  platonic,  to  this  friendship 
between  the  sexagenarian  artist  and  the  immaculate 
Colonna.  No  argument  is  necessary  to  indicate  the  utter 
absurdity  of  an  idea  which  implies  a  thorough  ignorance 
of  the  persons  in  question,  of  the  circumstances  of  their 
friendship,  and  of  all  that  remains  on  record  of  what 
passed  between  them.  Mr.  Harford,  whose  "Life  of 
Michael  Angelo"  has  been  already  quoted,  was  permitted, 
he  says,  to  hear  read  the  letters  from  Vittoria  to  her 
friend,  which  are  preserved  in  that  collection  of  papers 
and  memorials  of  the  great  artist,  which  forms  the  most 
treasured  possession  of  his  descendants ;  and  he  gives  the 
following  account  of  them : 


These  Splendid  Women  121 

"They  are  five  in  number;  and  there  is  a  sixth,  ad- 
dressed by  her  to  a  friend,  which  relates  to  Michael 
Angelo.  Two  of  these  letters  refer  in  very  grateful  terms 
to  the  fine  drawings  he  had  been  making  for  her,  and  to 
which  she  alludes  with  admiration.  Another  glances  with 
deep  interest  at  the  devout  sentiments  of  a  sonnet,  which 
it  appears  he  had  sent  for  her  perusal.  .  .  .  Another 
tells  him  in  playful  terms  that  his  duties  as  architect  of 
St.  Peter's,  and  her  own  to  the  youthful  inmates  of  the 
convent  of  St.  Catherine  at  Viterbo,  admit  not  of  their 
frequently  exchanging  letters.  This  must  have  been  writ- 
ten just  a  year  before  her  death,  which  occurred  in  1547. 
Michael  Angelo  became  architect  of  St.  Peter's  in  1546. 
These  letters  are  written  with  the  most  perfect  ease,  in 
a  firm,  strong  hand ;  but  there  is  not  a  syllable  in  any  of 
them  approaching  to  tenderness." 

The  period  of  Vittoria's  stay  in  Rome  on  this  occasion 
must  have  been  a  pleasant  one.  The  acknowledged  leader 
of  the  best  and  most  intellectual  society  in  that  city ;  sur- 
rounded by  a  company  of  gifted  and  high-minded  men, 
bound  to  her  and  to  each  other  by  that  most  intimate 
and  ennobling  of  all  ties,  the  common  profession  of  a 
higher,  nobler,  purer  theory  of  life  than  that  which  pre- 
vailed around  them,  and  a  common  membership  of  what 
might  almost  be  called  a  select  church  within  a  church, 
whose  principles  and  teaching  its  disciples  hoped  to  see 
rapidly  spreading  and  beneficially  triumphant;  dividing 
her  time  between  her  religious  duties,  her  literary  occu- 
pations, and  conversation  with  well-beloved  and  well- 
understood  friends — Vittoria  can  hardly  have  been  still 
tormented  by  temptations  to  commit  suicide.  Yet  in  a 
medal  struck  in  her  honor  at  this  period  of  her  Hfe,  the 
last  of  a  series  engraved  for  Visconti's  edition  of  her 
works,  the  reverse  represents  a  phoenix  on  her  funeral 
pile  gazing  at  the  sun,  while  the  flames  are  rising  around 
her.  The  obverse  has  a  bust  of  the  poetess,  showing  the 
features  a  good  deal  changed  in  the  course  of  the  six  or 


J122  These  Splendid  Women 

seven  years  which  had  elapsed  since  the  execution  of  that 
silly  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  medal  mentioned  in  a  previous 
chapter,  though  still  regular  and  well  formed.  The 
tendency  to  fatness,  and  to  a  comfortable  looking  double 
chin,  is  considerably  increased.  She  wears  a  singularly 
unbecoming  head-dress  of  plaited  linen,  sitting  close  to 
and  covering  the  entire  head,  with  long  pendants  at  the 
sides  falling  over  the  shoulders. 

These  pleasant  Roman  days  were,  however,  destined 
to  be  of  brief  duration.  They  were  cut  short,  strange 
as  the  statement  may  seem,  by  the  imposition  of  an  in- 
creased tax  upon  salt.  For  when  Paul  III.  resorted,  in 
1539,  to  that  always  odious  and  cruel  means  of  pillaging 
his  people,  Ascanio  Colonna  maintained  that,  by  virtue  of 
some  ancient  privilege,  the  new  tax  could  not  be  levied 
upon  his  estates.  The  pontifical  tax-gatherers  imprisoned 
certain  of  his  vassals  for  refusing  to  pay;  whereupon 
Ascanio  assembled  his  retainers,  made  a  raid  into  the 
Campagna,  and  drove  off  a  large  number  of  cattle.  The 
pope  lost  no  time  in  gathering  an  army  of  ten  thousand 
men,  and  "war  was  declared"  between  the  sovereign  and 
the  Colonna.  The  varying  fortunes  of  this  "war"  have 
been  narrated  in  detail  by  more  than  one  historian.  Much 
mischief  was  done,  and  a  great  deal  of  misery  occasioned 
by  both  the  contending  parties.  But  at  length  the  forces 
of  the  sovereign  got  the  better  of  those  of  his  vassal,  and 
the  principal  fortresses  of  the  Colonna  were  taken,  and 
their  fortifications  ordered  to  be  razed. 

It  was  in  consequence  of  these  misfortunes,  and  of 
that  remarkable  "solidarity"  which,  as  has  been  before 
observed,  united  in  those  days  the  members  of  a  family 
in  their  fortunes  and  reverses,  that  Vittoria  quitted  Rome, 
probably  toward  the  end  of  1540,  and  retired  to  Orvieto. 
But  the  loss  of  their  brightest  ornament  was  a  misfortune 
which  the  highest  circles  of  Roman  society  could  not 
submit  to  patiently.  Many  of  the  most  influential  per- 
sonages at  Paul  III.'s  court  visited  the  celebrated  exile  at 


These  Splendid  Women  123 

Orvieto,  and  succeeded  ere  long  in  obtaining  her  return 
to  Rome  after  a  very  short  absence.  And  we  accordingly 
find  her  again  in  the  Eternal  City  in  the  August  of  1541. 

There  is  a  letter  written  by  Luca  Contile,  the  Sienese 
historian,  dramatist  and  poet,  in  which  he  speaks  of  a 
visit  he  had  paid  to  Vittoria  in  Rome  in  that  month.  She 
asked  him,  he  writes,  for  news  of  Fra  Bernardino 
(Ochino),  and  on  his  replying  that  he  had  left  behind 
him  at  Milan  the  highest  reputation  for  virtue  and  holi- 
ness, she  answered,  "God  grant  that  he  so  persevere !" 

On  this  passage  of  Luca  Contile's  letter,  Visconti  and 
others  have  built  a  long  argument  in  proof  of  Vittoria's 
orthodoxy.  It  is  quite  clear,  they  say,  that  she  already 
suspected  and  lamented  Ochino's  progress  toward  heresy, 
and  thus  indicates  her  own  aversion  to  aught  that  might 
lead  to  separation  from  the  Church  of  Rome.  It  would 
be  difficult,  however,  to  show  that  the  simple  phrase  in 
question  had  necessarily  any  such  meaning.  But  any 
dispute  on  this  point  is  altogether  nugatory;  for  it  may 
be  at  once  admitted  that  Vittoria  did  not  quit,  and  in  all 
probability  would  not  under  any  circumstances  have 
quitted  the  communion  of  the  Church.  And  if  this  is  all 
that  her  Romanist  biographers  wish  to  maintain,  they  un- 
questionably are  correct  in  their  statements.  She  acted 
in  this  respect  in  conformity  with  the  conduct  of  the 
majority  of  those  eminent  men  whose  disciple  and  friend 
she  was  during  so  many  years.  And  the  final  extinction 
of  the  reformatory  movement  in  Italy  was  in  great  meas- 
ure due  precisely  to  the  fact,  that  conformity  to  Rome  was 
dearer  to  most  Italian  minds  than  the  independent  asser- 
tion of  their  own  opinions.  It  may  be  freely  granted, 
that  there  is  every  reason  to  suppose  that  it  would  have 
been  so  to  Vittoria,  had  she  not  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  die  before  her  peculiar  tenets  were  so  definitively  con- 
demned as  to  make  it  necessary  for  her  to  choose  between 
abandoning  them  or  abandoning  Rome.  But  surely  all 
the  interest  which  belongs  to  the  question  of  her  religious 


124  These  Splendid  Women 

opinions  consists  in  the  fact  that  she,  like  the  majority 
of  the  best  minds  of  her  country  and  age,  assuredly  held 
doctrines  which  Rome  discovered  and  declared  to  be  in- 
compatible with  her  creed. 

A  more  agreeable  record  of  Vittoria's  presence  in  Rome 
at  this  time,  and  an  interesting  ghmpse  of  the  manner  in 
which  many  of  her  hours  were  passed,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  papers  left  by  one  Francesco  d'Olanda,  a  Portu- 
guese painter,  who  was  then  in  the  Eternal  City.  He  had 
been  introduced,  he  tells  us,  by  the  kindness  of  Messer 
Lattanzio  Tolemei  of  Siena  to  the  Marchesa  de  Pescara, 
and  also  to  Michael  Angelo  and  he  has  recorded  at  length 
several  conversations  between  these  and  two  or  three  other 
members  of  their  society,  in  which  he  took  part.  The  ob- 
ject of  his  notes  appears  to  have  been  chiefly  to  preserve 
the  opinions  expressed  by  the  great  Florentine  on  subjects 
connected  with  the  arts.  And  it  must  be  admitted,  that 
the  conversation  of  the  eminent  personages  mentioned, 
as  recorded  by  the  Portuguese  painter,  appears,  if  judged 
by  the  standard  of  nineteenth-century  notions,  to  have 
been  wonderfully  dull  and  flat. 

The  record  is  a  very  curious  one  even  in  this  point  of 
view.  It  is  interesting  to  measure  the  distance  between 
what  was  considered  first-rate  conversation  in  1540,  and 
what  would  be  tolerated  among  intelligent  people  in  1850. 
The  good-old-times  admirers,  who  would  have  us  believe 
that  the  ponderous  erudition  of  past  generations  is  dis- 
tasteful to  us,  only  by  reason  of  the  touch-and-go  butterfly 
frivolousness  of  the  m.odern  mind,  are  in  error.  The 
long  discourses  which  charmed  a  sixteenth-century  audi- 
ence are  to  us  intolerably  boring,  because  they  are  filled 
with  platitudes — with  facts,  inferences,  and  speculations, 
that  is,  which  have  passed  and  repassed  through  the  popu- 
lar mind  till  they  have  assumed  the  appearance  of  self- 
evident  truths  and  fundamental  axioms,  which  it  is  loss 
of  time  to  spend  words  on.  And  time  has  so  wonderfully 
risen  in  value!     And  though  there  are  more  than  ever 


These  Splendid  Women  125 

men  whose  discourse  might  be  instructive  and  profitable 
to  their  associates,  the  universaHty  of  the  habit  of  read- 
ing prevents  conversation  from  being  turned  into  a  lec- 
ture. Those  who  have  matter  worth  communicating  can 
do  so  more  effectually  and  to  a  larger  audience  by  means 
of  the  pen;  and  those  willing  to  be  instructed  can  make 
themselves  masters  of  the  thoughts  of  others  far  more 
satisfactorily  by  the  medium  of  a  book. 

But  the  external  circumstances  of  these  conversations, 
noted  down  for  us  by  Francesco  d'Olanda,  give  us  an 
amusing  peep  into  the  literary  life  of  the  Roman  world 
three  hundred  years  ago. 

It  was  one  Sundajy  afternoon  that  the  Portuguese 
artist  went  to  call  on  Messer  Lattanzio  Tolemei,  nephew 
of  the  cardinal  of  that  name.  The  servants  told  him  that 
their  master  was  in  the  church  of  San  Silvestro,  at  Monte 
Cavallo,  in  company  with  the  Marchesa  di  Pescara,  for 
the  purpose  of  hearing  a  lecture  on  the  Epistles  of  St. 
Paul,  from  a  certain  Friar  Ambrose  of  Siene.  Maestro 
Francesco  lost  no  time  in  following  his  friend  thither. 
And  "as  soon  as  the  reading  and  the  interpretations  of 
it  were  over,"  the  Marchesa,  turning  to  the  stranger  and 
inviting  him  to  sit  beside  her,  said,  "If  I  am  not  mistaken, 
Francesco  d'Olanda  would  better  like  to  hear  Michael 
Angelo  preach  on  painting,  than  to  listen  to  Friar  Am- 
brose's lecture." 

Whereupon  the  painter,  "feeling  himself  piqued,"  as- 
sures the  lady  that  he  can  take  interest  in  other  matters 
than  painting,  and  that,  hoavever  willingly  he  would 
listen  to  Michael  Angelo  on  art,  he  would  prefer  to  hear 
Friar  Ambrose  when  St.  Paul's  epistles  were  in  question. 

"Do  not  be  angry,  Messer  Francesco,"  said  Signor 
Lattanzio,  thereupon.  "The  Marchesa  is  far  from  doubt- 
ing that  the  man  capable  of  painting  may  be  capable  of 
aught  else.  We,  in  Italy,  have  too  high  an  estimate  of 
art  for  that.  But  perhaps  we  should  gather  from  the 
remark  of  the  Signora  Marchesa  the  intention  of  adding 


126  These  Splendid  Women 

to  the  pleasure  you  have  already  had,  that  of  hearing 
Michael  Angelo." 

"In  that  case,"  said  I,  "her  Excellence  would  do  only 
as  is  her  wont — that  is,  to  accord  greater  favors  than 
one  would  have  dared  to  ask  of  her." 

So  Vittoria  calls  to  a  servant,  and  bids  him  go  to  the 
house  of  Michael  Angelo  and  tell  him  "that  I  and  Messer 
Lattanzio  are  here  in  this  cool  chapel,  that  the  church  is 
shut,  and  very  pleasant,  and  ask  him  if  he  will  come  and 
spend  a  part  of  the  day  with  us,  that  we  may  put  it  to 
profit  in  his  company.  But  do  not  tell  him  that  Francesco 
d'Olanda  the  Spaniard  is  here." 

Then  there  is  some  very  mild  raillery  about  how  Michael 
Angelo  was  to  be  led  to  speak  of  painting — it  being,  it 
seems,  very  questionable  whether  he  could  be  induced  to 
do  so;  and  a  little  bickering  follows  between  Maestro 
Francesco  and  Friar  Ambrose,  who  feels  convinced  that 
Michael  will  not  be  got  to  talk  before  the  Portuguese, 
while  the  latter  boasts  of  his  intimacy  with  the  great  man. 

Presently  there  is  a  knock  at  the  church  door.  It  is 
Michael  Angelo,  who  has  been  met  by  the  servants  as  he 
was  going  toward  the  baths,  talking  with  Orbino,  his 
color-grinder. 

"The  Marchesa  rose  to  receive  him,  and  remained 
standing  a  good  while  before  making  him  sit  down  be- 
tween her  and  Messer  Lattanzio."  Then,  "with  an  art 
which  I  can  neither  describe  nor  imitate,  she  began  to  talk 
of  various  matters  with  infinite  wit  and  grace,  without 
ever  touching  the  subject  of  painting,  the  better  to  make 
sure  of  the  great  painter." 

"One  is  sure  enough,"  she  says  at  last,  "to  be  com- 
pletely beaten,  as  often  as  one  ventures  to  attack  Michael 
Angelo  on  his  own  ground,  which  is  that  of  wit  and 
raillery.  You  will  see,  Messer  Lattanzio,  that  to  put  him 
down  and  reduce  him  to  silence,  we  must  talk  to  him  of 
briefs,  law  processes,  or  painting." 

By  which  subtle  and  deep-laid  plot  the  great  man  is  set 


These  Splendid  Women  127 

off    into    a    long    discourse    on    painters    and    painting. 

"His  Holiness,"  said  the  Marchesa  after  a  while,  "has 
granted  me  the  favor  of  authorizing  me  to  build  a  new 
convent,  near  this  spot,  on  the  slope  of  Monte  Cavallo, 
where  there  is  the  ruined  portico,  from  the  top  of  which, 
it  is  said,  that  Nero  looked  on  while  Rome  was  burning; 
so  that  virtuous  women  may  efface  the  trace  of  so  wicked 
a  man.  I  do  not  know,  Michael  Angelo,  what  form  or 
proportions  to  give  the  building,  or  on  which  side  to 
make  the  entrance.  Would  it  not  be  possible  to  join 
together  some  parts  of  the  ancient  constructions,  and  make 
them  available  toward  the  new  building?" 

"Yes,"  said  Michael  Angelo ;  "the  ruined  portico  might 
serve  for  a  bell-tower." 

This  repartee,  says  our  Portuguese  reporter,  was  ut- 
tered with  so  much  seriousness  and  aplomb  that  Messer 
Lattanzio  could  not  forbear  from  remarking  it. 

From  which  we  are  led  to  infer  that  the  great  Michael 
was  understood  to  have  made  a  joke.  He  added,  however, 
more  seriously,  "I  think  that  your  Excellence  may  build 
the  proposed  convent  without  difficulty ;  and  when  we  go 
out,  we  can,  if  your  Excellence  so  please,  have  a  look 
at  the  spot,  and  suggest  to  you  some  ideas." 

Then,  after  a  complimentary  speech  from  Vittoria,  in 
which  she  declares  that  the  public,  who  know  Michael 
Angelo's  works  only  without  being  acquainted  with  his 
character,  are  ignorant  of  the  best  part  of  him,  the  lecture, 
to  which  all  this  is  introductory,  begins.  And  when  the 
company  part  at  its  close,  an  appointment  is  made  to 
meet  again  another  Sunday  in  the  same  church. 

A  painter  in  search  of  an  unhackneyed  subject  might 
easily  choose  a  worse  one  than  that  suggested  by  this 
notable  group,  making  the  cool  and  quiet  church  their 
Sunday  afternoon  drawing-room. 

The  few  remaining  years  of  Vittoria's  life  were  spent 
between  Rome  and  Viterbo,  an  episcopal  city  some  thirty 
miles  to  the  north  of  it.     In  this  latter  her  home  was  in 


128  These  Splendid  Women 

the  convent  of  the  nuns  of  St.  Catherine.  Her  society 
there  consisted  chiefly  of  Cardinal  Pole,  the  governor  of 
Viterbo,  her  old  friend  Marco  Antonio  Flaminio,  and 
Archbishop  Soranzo. 

During  these  years  the  rapidly  increasing  conscious- 
ness on  the  part  of  the  Church  of  the  danger  of  the 
doctrines  held  by  the  reforming  party  was  speedily  making 
it  unsafe  to  profess  those  opinions,  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  gave  the  color  to  so  large  a  portion  of  Vittoria's 
poetry,  and  which  had  formed  her  spiritual  character. 
And  these  friends,  in  the  closest  intimacy  with  whom  she 
lived  at  Viterbo,  were  not  the  sort  of  men  calculated  to 
support  her  in  any  daring  reliance  on  the  dictates  of  her 
own  soul,  when  these  chanced  to  be  in  opposition  to  the 
views  of  the  Church.  Pole  appears  to  have  been  at  this 
time  the  special  director  of  her  conscience.  And  we  know 
but  too  well,  from  the  lamentable  sequel  of  his  own  career, 
the  sort  of  counsel  he  would  be  likely  to  give  her  under 
the  circumstances.  There  is  an  extremely  interesting 
letter  extant,  written  by  her  from  Viterbo  to  the  Cardinal 
Cervino,  who  was  afterward  Pope  Marcellus  11. ,  which 
proves  clearly  enough,  to  the  great  delight  of  her  or- 
thodox admirers,  that  let  her  opinions  have  been  what 
they  might,  she  was  ready  to  "submit"  them  to  the 
censorship  of  Rom^e.  We  have  seen  how  closely  her 
opinions  agreed  with  those  which  drove  Bernardino 
(Dchino  to  separate  himself  from  the  Church  and  fly  from 
its  vengeance.  Yet  under  Pole's  tutelage  she  writes  as 
follows : 

"Most  Illustrious  and  most  Reverend  Sir:  The 
more  opportunity  I  have  had  of  observing  the  actions  of 
his  Eminence  the  Cardinal  of  England  (Pole),  the  more 
clear  has  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  is  a  true  and  sincere 
servant  of  God.  Whenever,  therefore,  he  charitably  con- 
descends to  give  me  his  opinion  on  any  point,  I  conceive 
myself  safe  from  error  in  following^  his  advice.    And  he 


These  Splendid  Women  129 

told  me  that,  in  his  opinion,  I  ought,  in  case  any  letter  or 
other  matter  should  reach  me  from  Fra  Bernardino,  to 
send  the  same  to  your  most  Reverend  Lordship,  and  re- 
turn no  answer,  unless  I  should  be  directed  to  do  so.  I 
send  you  therefore  the  enclosed,  which  I  have  this  day 
received,  together  with  the  little  book  attached.  The 
whole  was  in  a  packet,  which  came  to  the  post  here  by 
a  courier  from  Bologna,  without  any  other  writing  inside. 
And  I  have  thought  it  best  not  to  make  use  of  any  other 
means  of  sending  it,  than  by  a  servant  of  my  own." 

She  adds  in  a  postscript : 

"It  grieves  me  much  that  the  more  he  tries  to  excuse 
himself  the  more  he  accuses  himself ;  and  the  more  he 
thinks  to  save  others  from  shipwreck,  the  more  he  ex- 
poses himself  to  the  flood,  being  himself  out  of  the  ark 
which  saves  and  secures." 

Poor  Ochino  little  thought  probably  that  his  letter  to 
his  former  admiring  and  fervent  disciple  would  be  passed 
on  with  such  a  remark  to  the  hands  of  his  enemies !  He 
ought,  however,  to  have  been  aware  that  princesses  and 
cardinals,  whatever  speculations  they  may  have  indulged 
in,  do  not  easily  become  heretics. 

She  returned  once  more  from  Viterbo  to  Rome  toward 
the  end  of  the  year  1544,  and  took  up  her  residence  in 
the  convent  of  Benedictines  of  St.  Anne.  While  there 
she  composed  a  Latin  prayer,  which  has  been  much  ad- 
mired, and  which  though  not  so  Ciceronian  in  its  diction 
as  Bembo  might  have  written,  will  bear  comparison  with 
similar  compositions  by  many  more  celebrated  persons. 
Several  of  the  latest  of  her  poems  were  also  written  at 
this  time.  But  her  health  began  to  fail  so  rapidly  as  to 
give  great  uneasiness  to  her  friends.  Several  letters  are 
extant  from  Tolomei  to  her  physician,  anxiously  inquiring 
after  her  health,  urging  him  to  neglect  no  resources  of 


130  These  Splendid  Women 

his  art,  and  bidding  him  remember  that  **the  Hves  of 
many,  who  continually  receive  from  her  their  food — 
some  that  of  the  body  and  others  that  of  the  mind — are 
bound  up  in  hers."  The  celebrated  physician  and  poet, 
Fracastoro,  was  written  to  in  Verona.  In  his  reply,  after 
suggesting  medical  remedies,  he  says,  "Would  that  a 
physician  for  her  mind  could  be  found !  Otherwise  the 
fairest  light  in  this  world  will,  from  causes  by  no  means 
clear  {a  non  so  cite  sfrano  modo)  be  extinguished  and 
taken  from  our  eyes." 

The  medical  opinion  of  Fracastoro,  writing  from  a 
distance,  may  not  be  of  much  value.  But  it  is  certain 
that  many  circumstances  combined  to  render  these  de- 
cHning  years  of  Vittoria's  life  unhappy.  The  fortunes 
of  her  family  were  under  a  cloud;  and  it  is  probable 
that  she  was  as  much  grieved  by  her  brother's  conduct  as 
by  the  consequences  of  it.  The  death  also  of  the  Mar- 
chese  del  Vasto,  in  the  flower  of  his  age,  about  this  time, 
was  a  severe  blow  to  her.  Ever  since  those  happy  early 
days  in  Ischia,  when  she  had  been  to  him,  as  she  said, 
morally  and  intellectually  a  mother,  the  closest  ties  of 
affection  had  united  them;  and  his  loss  was  to  Vittoria 
like  that  of  a  son.  Then  again,  though  she  had  per- 
fectly made  up  her  mind  as  to  the  line  of  conduct  it 
behooved  her  to  take  in  regard  to  any  difficulties  of 
religious  opinion,  yet  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  neces- 
sity of  separating  herself  from  so  many  whom  she  had 
loved  and  venerated,  deserting  them,  as  it  were,  in  their 
falling  fortunes,  must  have  been  acutely  painful  to  her. 
Possibly  also  conscience  was  not  wholly  at  rest  with  her 
on  this  matter.  It  may  be  that  the  still  voice  of  inward 
conviction  would  sometimes  make  obstinate  murmur 
against  bhndfold  submission  to  a  priesthood,  who  ought 
not,  according  to  the  once  expressed  opinion  of  the 
poetess,  to  come  between  the  creature  and  his  Creator. 

As  she  became  gradually  worse  and  weaker,  she  was 


These  Splendid  Women  131 

removed  from  the  convent  of  St.  Anne  to  the  neighboring 
house  of  GiuHano  Cesarini,  the  husband  of  GuiHa 
Colonna,  the  only  one  of  her  kindred  then  left  in  Rome. 
And  there  she  breathed  her  last,  toward  the  end  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1547,  in  the  57th  year  of  her  age. 

In  her  last  hours  she  was  visited  by  her  faithful  and 
devotedly  attached  friend,  Michael  Angelo,  who  watched 
the  departure  of  the  spirit  from  her  frame ;  and  who  de- 
clared, years  afterward,  that  he  had  never  ceased  to 
regret  that  in  that  solemn  moment  he  had  not  ventured 
to  press  his  lips,  for  the  first  and  last  time,  to  the  marble 
forehead  of  the  dead. 

She  had  directed  that  her  funeral  should  be  in  all  re- 
spects like  that  of  one  of  the  sisters  of  the  convent  in 
which  she  last  resided.  And  so  completely  were  her 
behests  attended  to  that  no  memorial  of  any  kind  remains 
to  tell  the  place  of  her  sepulchre. 


Qatherine  de^  ^Medici 

By  IMBERT  DE  SAINT-ARMAND 

TO  Francis  11.  had  succeeded  Charles  IX.;  to  an 
imaginary  majority,  a  real  minority.  The  little 
King  was  only  ten  years  old.  At  last  Catherine 
de'  Medici  reigned.^  Never  had  a  more  overwhelming 
burden  rested  on  a  woman's  shoulders.  True,  history 
has  a  right  to  be  severe  towards  this  woman.  Yet,  for 
all  that,  it  must  recognize  the  terrible  obstacles  she  had 
to  surmount,  and  give  her  credit  for  the  courage  with 
which  she  accepted  the  struggle.  There  is  no  science 
more  contingent  than  that  of  politics.  Assuredly,  Cath- 
erine knew  what  she  wanted;  her  aim  was  to  save  the 
house  of  Valois,  and  solidify  the  royal  authority.  But  the 
means  to  do  this  varied  with  events.  Justice  demands 
us  to  recognize  that  she  began  by  trying  the  paths  of 
gentleness,  moderation,  and  impartiality.  In  a  time  when 
there  were  as  yet  no  constitutions,  she  acted,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  her  regency,  like  a  true  constitutional  sov- 
ereign. She  sought  to  balance  powers,  she  tried  concilia- 
tion, she  induced  mortal  enemies  like  the  Duke  of  Guise 
and  the  Prince  of  Conde  to  embrace  each  other. 

In  troublous  and  violent  epochs,  the  masses  listen  to 
nothing  but  exaggerations.  Moderate  people  are  consid- 
ered lukewarm.  There  is  no  longer  either  impartiality  or 
justice.  The  moral  sense  and  the  reason  disappear  to- 
gether. Doubtless,  truly  noble  souls  are  not  immoderately 
affected  by  these  aberrations  of  public  opinion.  Per- 
severing without  uneasiness  in  the  path  of  right  and  duty. 


These  Splendid  Women  133 

they  remember  the  old  adage,  which  is  the  device  of  virtue. 
Do  what  you  ought,  come  what  may.  But  Catherine  was 
not  one  of  those  grand  characters  which  events  do  not 
affect.  From  the  day  on  which  she  became  convinced 
that  mildness  would  not  succeed,  she  never  recoiled  from 
crime. 

It  is  incontestable  that  the  Oueen-rnother  hesitated 
momentarily  between  the  rival  cults.  She  had  been  greatly 
impressed  by  the  progress  of  Protestantism.  In  1555, 
there  was  but  a  single  reformed  church  in  all  France ;  in 
1559,  there  were  two  thousand.  Surrounded  as  she  was 
by  a  great  number  of  Protestant  ladies,  Catherine  ques- 
tioned whether  it  were  the  interest  of  the  dynasty  to 
remain  loyal  to  the  Catholic  faith. 

She  liked  much  the  notion  of  replenishing  the  funds  by 
seizing  the  ecclesiastical  property.  Her  Huguenot  cour- 
tiers said  that  nothing  could  be  easier  than  to  make 
France  Protestant,  and  that  where  Henry  VIII.  and 
Gustavus  Wasa  had  succeeded  so  easily  she  could  not 
fail.  Would  not  a  word  from  Catherine  suffice  to  change 
the  religion  of  the  kingdom,  as  had  happened  in  England 
andjn  Sweden?  Nothing  was  more  dangerous  than  such 
counsels,  and  the  Queen-mother  soon  repented  of  having, 
for  several  months,  entertained  an  inclination  to  follow 
them.  It  is  evident,  none  the  less,  that  at  the  beginning 
of  her  regency  she  inclined  toward  the  new  ideas. 
Brought  up  in  the  Catholic  religion,  however,  she  re- 
tained up  to  a  certain  point  the  impressions  of  her  child- 
hood. She  certainly  believed  in  hell  and  in  paradise,  in 
the  devil  and  in  God.  But  she  varied  as  to  other  doc- 
trines. There  were  hours  when,  like  Montaigne,  she 
would  have  been  tempted  to  say:  What  do  I  know? 
There  were  others  when  the  religious  sentiment  regained 
entire  possession  of  her  soul.  Nothing  absolute  can  be 
found  in  her.  Her  character  is  full  of  contradictions, 
and  the  historians  who  will  conscientiously  analyze  her 


134  These  Splendid  Women 

life,  will  waver,  like  her  contemporaries,  between  sym- 
pathy and  dislike  for  this  mobile  nature. 

From  the  day  when  she  gained  the  twofold  conviction 
that  Protestantism  was  sapping  the  foundations  of  royal 
authority,  and  that  Catholicism  was  assured  of  success, 
Catherine  no  longer  hesitated.  The  first  wars  of  religion 
opened  her  eyes  to  the  tendencies,  by  turns  republican 
and  feudal,  of  the  Calvinist  leaders,  to  the  ambition  of 
the  Prince  of  Conde  and  Admiral  Coligny^  to  the  danger 
to  the  great  cause  of  French  unity  arising  from  the  new 
ideas,  and  to  the  anti-national  character  of  the  Huguenot 
alliance  with  England. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that,  with  all  her  faults,  Cath- 
erine had  the  national  sentiment.  When  she  saw  that 
the  heart  of  the  nation  beat  for  the  Catholic  cause,  she 
would  have  no  more  of  the  Reformation.  Moreover,  she 
had  too  much  intelligence  not  to  jcomprehend  that  to 
abandon  the  honor  of  protecting  the  faith  to  the  Guises, 
was  to  destroy,  for  their  behoof,  all  the  prestige  of  the 
crown.  "The  churches  were  the  theatre  of  all  the  fetes 
and  all  the  joys  of  the  people;  their  palaces  were  more 
splendid  than  those  of  the  kings,  where,  kings  in  their 
turn,  they  forgot  all  their  hard  labors  and  their  miserable 
dwellings  in  dreams  of  heaven.  What  was  offered  them 
in  place  of  all  this  magnificent  Catholic  symbolism,  this 
immense  poem  in  action  which  incessantly  unrolled  with 
the  rolling  year?  Abstract  worship  of  the  spirit,  in 
temples  void  and  empty  to  eyes  of  flesh,  enthusiasm  for 
moral  reform,  praise  of  the  Christian's  dignity  sounding 
in  the  chants  of  a  new  harmony,  the  sole  act  of  an  icono- 
clastic worship." 

When  Catherine  beheld  the  Huguenots,  like  true  Van- 
dals, destroying  the  masterpieces  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
dragging  crucifixes  and  relics  through  the  mud,  raging  at 
everything  which  to  the  people  meant  civilization,  happi- 
ness, and  glory;  when  these  modern  Saracens  respected 
not  even  the  dead;  when  they  profaned,  at  Angouleme, 


These  Splendid  Women  135 

the  sepulchres  of  the  ancestors  of  the  reigning  family; 
when  they  burned,  at  Cleri,  the  bones  of  Louis  XL,  and 
at  Sainte-Croix  the  heart  of  Francis  IL;  Catherine,  as 
she  listened  to  the  cry  of  wrath  and  vengeance  which 
rose  from  the  Catholic  masses  told  herself  that  the  Valois 
must  range  themselves  on  the  side  of  the  people,  if  they 
would  not  perish  in  the  tempest.  Moreover,  the  Catholic 
triumvirate,  which  had  so  alarmed  Catherine,  no  longer 
existed.  The  Marshal  of  Saint-Andre  had  been  killed 
at  the  battle  of  Dreux,  and  the  Duke  of  Guise  assassinated 
before  Orleans.  Protestantism  was  now  the  danger  for 
authority.  Ideas  of  moderation  had  no  longer  any  in- 
fluence. The  civil  war  assumed  a  savage  character  on 
both  sides;  whole  garrisons  had  their  throats  cut.  The 
wells  were  choked  with  human  bodies;  the  soldiers  be- 
came headsmen.  Roadside  trees  turned  into  gibbets. 
"The  civil  war,"  says  Castelnau  in  his  Memoirs,  "were 
an  inexhaustible  source  of  all  villainies,  thefts,  robberies, 
murders,  incests,  adulteries,  parricides." 

And  yet  Catherine  did  not  despair  of  appeasing  all 
hatreds,  ending  all  discords,  and  bringing  out  the  royal 
authority  victorious  from  all  its  trials.  Nothing  discour- 
aged her.  The  more  difficult  the  situation,  the  more 
astuteness,  patience,  and  activity  she  displayed.  Her  life 
was  an  incessant  labor. 

I  think  I  see  her  in  her  Louvre,  living  by  her  intelli- 
gence, her  head,  far  more  than  by  her  heart,  never  losing 
sight  of  her  plans  and  ideas,  pursuing  her  ends  by  the 
most  crooked  paths,  displaying  in  all  circumstances  the 
resources  of  an  adroit  and  pliant  character.  "At  table, 
and  while  walking,  she  is  constantly  conversing  with  some 
one  on  affairs.  Her  mind  is  bent,  not  merely  on  political 
matters,  but  on  so  many  others  that  I  do  not  know  how 
she  can  endure  and  go  through  so  much."  Notwithstand- 
ing all  her  preoccupations,  she  still  finds  time  to  think 
of  letters  and  the  arts.  She  makes  Amyot  preceptor  to 
Charles  IX.,  takes  pleasure  in  Montaigne's  conversation, 


136  These  Splendid  Women 

and,  in  1564,  begins  the  erection  of  the  Tuileries  after 
the  plans  of  Jean  Bullant  and  Philibert  Delorme. 

Calm,  smiling,  happy,  apparently  at  least,  amidst  the 
gravest  perils  and  most  horrible  tragedies,  I  behold  her 
feared  by  her  children,  held  in  great  consideration  even 
by  her  enemies,  pleasing  even  the  most  rebellious  by  the 
courtesy  of  her  manners  and  the  sweetness  of  her  v^ords, 
overwhelming  with  attentions  every  one  likely  to  be  of 
use  to  her.  To  her,  more  than  to  any  other  personage, 
may  be  applied  that  line  of  a  great  poet : — 

"Sans  haine,  sans  amour,  tu  vivais  pour  penser." 
("Without  hate,  without  love,  thou  livest  to  think.") 

To  reign,  is  what  one  should  say.  To  rule  is  Cath- 
erine's joy.  "All  her  actions,"  says  the  Venetian  am- 
bassador, Sigismund  Cavalli,  "are  founded  on  that 
invincible  passion  which,  even  during  her  husband's  life- 
time, was  recognized  in  her, — ^the  passion  for  domineering ; 
un  affetto  di  signoreggiare"  She  yields  to  this  lust  for 
power,  but  without  conceit,  without  arrogance,  and  with 
a  sort  of  good-nature.  Amiable,  attractive,  and  exqui- 
sitely polite,  she  takes  pains  to  make  herself  agreeable 
to  all  who  approach  her.  Her  conversation  is  by  turns 
jovial  and  instructive.  She  is  conversant,  not  merely  with 
French  affairs,  but  with  those  of  all  other  kingdoms  and 
European  states. 

Mistress  of  herself,  she  has  the  great  art  of  self- 
control.  If  she  is  dissatisfied  with  one  of  her  officials 
or  attendants,  she  expresses  her  displeasure  in  affectionate 
terms.  "When  she  calls  any  one  'my  friend,'  "  says  Bran- 
tome,  "it  is  either  because  she  thinks  him  a  fool,  or  is 
angry ;  so  true  is  this,  that  she  had  a  noble  servant  named 
M.  de  Bois-Fevrier,  who  said  as  much  when  she  called 
him  *my  friend':  *Ah,  Madame,  I  would  like  it  better  if 
you  called  me  your  enemy,  for  it  amounts  to  saying  that 
I  am  a  fool,  or  that  you  are  angry  with  me,  for  I  have 
known  your  disposition  this  long  while.'  " 


These  Splendid  Women  137 

Up  to  the  fatal  moment  when  the  Saint  Bartholomew 
Massacre  spotted  her  black  robe  with  an  ineffaceable  stain 
of  blood,  she  was  much  oftener  accused  of  moderation  and 
mildness  than  of  violence  and  cruelty.  The  parties  re- 
proached her  with  being  too  conciliating,  and  with  wishing 
to  pacify  everybody.  It  was  by  means  of  the  beautiful 
girls  in  her  train,  her  flying  squadron  as  they  were  called, 
that  she  attacked  and  vanquished  her  harshest  enemies. 
She  wanted  to  blunt  hatreds  by  pleasures,  to  change  shouts 
of  rage  into  voluptuous  chants ;  and  this  woman,  destined 
a  few  years  later  to  wear  a  sinister  aspect,  never  appeared, 
during  the  childhood  of  Charles  IX.,  but  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips  and  the  olive-branch  in  her  hand. 

Fate  reserved  for  her  the  spectacle  of  other  struggles 
more  bloody  than  those  of  the  Medici  and  the  Pazzi. 
The  childhood  of  Catherine  de'  Medici  had  prepared  her 
for  the  crises  and  storms  of  her  career.  The  prologue 
was  worthy  of  the  drama. 

The  city  of  Marseilles  was  in  great  joy  on  October 
12,  1533.  The  signals  of  the  tower  of  If  and  of  Notre 
Dame  de  la  Garde  had  just  announced  that  the  pontifical 
fleet  was  approaching,  with  Pope  Clement  VII.  and  his 
niece,  the  betrothed  of  the  King's  son,  the  young  Cath- 
erine de'  Medici,  on  board.  The  steeples  of  the  Major 
responded  to  the  municipal  belfry  on  the  Place  de  Linche 
in  ringing  welcome  to  the  august  voyagers.  Numerous 
boats,  containing  a  crowd  of  gentlemen  and  musicians, 
left  the  shore  to  go  and  meet  them.  Three  hundred 
pieces  of  artillery  rent  the  air  with  their  joyous  salvos. 
The  populace  were  on  their  knees.  At  the  head  of  the 
fleet  came  the  principal  galley,  which  carried  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  Popes  when 
travelling  by  sea.  Carpeted  with  crimson  satin  and  cov- 
ered with  a  tent  of  cloth-of-gold,  the  vessel  of  Clement 
VII.  was  richly  sculptured  in  the  Venetian  fashion.  Ten 
cardinals  and  a  great  number  of  bishops  and  prelates 
accompanied  the  successor  of  Saint  Peter. 


138  These  Splendid  Women 

The  solemn  entry  into  the  town  was  surrounded  with 
extraordinary  pomp.  Throned  on  the  sedia  gestatoria, 
the  Vicar  of  Jesus  Christ  was  borne  on  the  shoulders 
of  robust  men.  Preceding  him,  on  a  white  horse  led  by 
two  equerries  in  sumptuous  costumes,  was  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  in  a  magnificent  ostensory.  The  crowd,  re- 
ceiving the  Apostolic  benediction  piously,  rained  flowers 
along  the  path  of  the  procession ;  priests  chanted  canticles, 
and  there  rose  a  cloud  of  incense  in  the  air.  Vested 
in  their  purple,  the  cardinals,  on  horseback,  followed  the 
Pope  by  twos.  Then,  giving  her  hand  to  her  uncle,  John 
Stuart,  Duke  of  Albany,  and  wearing  a  robe  of  gold 
brocade,  came  the  fourteen-year-old  Florentine,  with  her 
black  eyes,  her  dull  compkxion,  her  gentle  and  intelligent 
expression.  Curiosity,  so  great  already,  would  have  been 
far  more  excited,  could  the  part  this  young  girl  was 
called  to  play  in  the  destinies  of  France  have  been  fore- 
seen. The  next  day,  Francis  I.  attended  by  his  court  and 
all  the  foreign  ambassadors,  went  as  the  Most  Christian 
King,  to  pay  homage  to  the  Holy  Father.  For  the  Pope 
and  the  King,  two  palaces  had  been  made  ready,  separated 
from  each  other  only  by  a  street,  and  united  by  a  great 
wooden  bridge,  forming  a  vast  hall  hung  with  rich 
tapestries,  and  intended  for  the  consistories  as  well  as 
for  the  interviews   between  the  two   sovereigns. 

The  Pope's  attendants,  bragging  much  about  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  pontifical  alliance,  claimed  that  Catherine 
would  give  to  the  house  of  France  "three  rings  of  in- 
estimable price:  Genoa,  Milan,  and  Naples."  Francis  I. 
had  never  displayed  more  courtesy,  or  made  a  greater 
show  of  luxury.  The  young  Duke  of  Orleans  testified  a 
lively  sympathy  for  his  young  betrothed,  and  all  France 
participated  in  his  joy.  The  marriage  was  celebrated 
October  23,  in  the  cathedral  church,  the  Major,  by  the 
Pope,  who  said  the  Mass,  and  gave  the  nuptial  ring  to 
the  spouses.  Catherine  wore  a  robe  of  white  silk  enriched 
with  precious  stones  and  ornaments  of  Florentine  wrought 


These  Splendid  Women  139 

gold.  Her  head  was  covered  by  a  veil  of  Brussels  point. 
She  looked  like  the  Italian  Madonnas  in  their  glittering 
frames.  The  Pope  and  the  King  did  not  separate  until 
November  27,  when  His  Holiness  went  on  board  of  the 
pontifical  galley,  and  Francis  I.  took  the  road  to  Avignon, 
whence  he  was  to  return  to  Fontainebleau. 

This  residence,  which  Catherine  occupied,  had  never 
been  more  gorgeous.  At  the  age  of  thirty-nine,  Francis 
I.  retained  all  the  tastes  of  his  early  youth,  and  his  court 
was  not  a  school  of  morality.  Brantome  describes  him 
as  inciting  his  "worthy  gentlemen  to  have  mistresses  un- 
der penalty  of  being  regarded  by  him  as  dolts  or  block- 
heads, and  promising  them  his  good  offices  with  such  as 
were  inhuman;  he  was  not  contented  with  merely  see- 
ing them  follow  his  example;  he  wanted  to  be  their  con- 
fidant. Often,  too,  when  he  saw  them  in  great  discus- 
sions with  their  mistresses,  he  would  accost  them,  asking 
what  good  things  they  had  said,  and,  if  he  did  not  think 
them  good,  would  correct  them  and  teach  them  others." 
It  was  not  merely  in  matters  of  gallantry  that  Francis  I. 
might  be  esteemed  a  master.  A  Venetian  ambassador, 
Marino  CavaUi,  wrote  concerning  him:  "This  Prince 
has  very  good  judgment  and  great  knowledge :  listening 
to  him,  one  recognizes  that  there  is  neither  study  nor 
art  which  he  cannot  discuss  with  much  pertinence,  and 
criticise  in  a  manner  as  positive  as  those  who  have  spe- 
cially devoted  themselves  to  it.  His  acquirements  are  not 
limited  to  war,  the  manner  of  provisioning  and  command- 
ing an  army,  arranging  a  plan  of  battle,  preparing  quar- 
ters, assaulting  or  defending  a  town,  directing  artillery; 
he  not  only  understands  all  that  appertains  to  maritime 
warfare,  but  he  has  great  experience  in  hunting,  paint- 
ing, literature,  the  languages,  and  the  different  exercises 
befitting  a  handsome  and  brilliant  chevalier."  Catherine 
understood  at  once  how  much  was  to  be  gained  in  the 
society  of  this  learned,  amiable,  and  powerful  King.  She 
wished  to  become  his  pupil,  and  seeking  every  occasion 


140  These  Splendid  Women 

to  follow  and  ply  him  with  homage,  she  set  to  work  to 
become  an  assiduous  companion,  a  sort  of  maid-of-honor 
to  him. 

Francis  I.  had  a  passion  for  the  chase.  Catherine  be- 
came a  great  huntress.  "She  prayed  the  King/*  says 
Brantome,  "to  permit  her  to  be  always  at  his  side.  They 
say  that,  being  subtle  and  crafty,  she  did  this  as  much  or 
more  for  the  sake  of  watching  the  King's  actions,  ex- 
tracting his  secrets,  and  listening  to  and  knowing  every- 
thing, as  for  the  sake  of  hunting."  After  this  reflection, 
Brantome  adds :  "King  Francis  was  so  pleased  with  such 
a  prayer,  and  her  ready  fondness  for  his  company, 
that  he  granted  it  very  cordially,  and  besides  his  natural 
affection  for  her,  his  liking  continually  grew,  and  he  de- 
lighted in  giving  her  pleasure  at  the  hunt,  where  she 
never  quitted  the  King,  but  always  followed  him  at  full 
speed;  she  rode  well  and  was  daring,  and  had  a  very 
graceful  seat,  being  the  first  one  who  threw  her  leg  over 
the  saddle  bow,  insomuch  that  her  grace  was  even  more 
striking  and  apparent  there  than  on  a  floor."  Catherine 
followed  from  city  to  city,  from  castle  to  castle,  this 
monarch  whose  custom  it  was  to  change  his  abode  in- 
cessantly. Marin  Giustinian,  Venetian  ambassador  to 
France  from  1532  to  1535,  says  concerning  this:  "Never, 
during  my  embassy,  did  the  court  remain  in  the  same 
place  for  more  than  fifteen  consecutive  days."  Agreeable 
by  the  quickness  of  her  intellect,  as  well  as  her  even- 
ness of  temper,  the  young  Florentine  sought  to  make 
friends,  not  merely  of  the  King  and  the  Princes,  but  of 
all  who  approached  her.  She  lived  on  good  terms  with 
"the  little  band  of  court  ladies,"  as  Brantome  says,  "ladies 
of  family,  damsels  of  reputation,"  whom  Francis  I.  as- 
siduously sought  for  among  "the  most  beautiful  and  most 
noble,"  and  who  appeared  "in  the  court  like  goddesses 
from  heaven." 

Catherine  needed  all  her  address  and  prudence  to  avoid 
the  snares  already  laid  for  her.     Aristocratic  prejudices 


These  Splendid  Women  141 

were  enlisted  against  her.  The  French  nobles  did  not  think 
the  escutcheon  of  the  Medici  sufficiently  gilded  by  the  pon- 
tifical tiara  of  Leo  X.  and  Clement  VII.  They  said  it 
was,  after  all,  but  a  family  of  merchants,  and  that  even 
with  the  best  will  in  the  world  the  marriage  of  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  could  not  be  considered  other  than  a 
mesalliance.  It  was  claimed,  also,  that  the  Pope  had 
not  kept  his  promises  very  well,  and  had  in  fact  been 
of  no  advantage.  Catherine,  who  had  only  married  the 
king's  second  son,  did  not  at  this  time  seem  destined  to 
play  an  important  political  role.  The  sole  ambition  which 
she  and  her  husband  could  hope  to  realize  was  that,  when 
the  war  between  Charles  V.  and  France  was  over,  they 
might  receive  the  investiture  of  the  Duchy  of  Milan  or 
that  of  Urbino. 

An  unexpected  event  abruptly  changed  this  situation. 
The  Dauphin,  who  had  followed  the  King  to  the  war  of 
Provence,  died  suddenly  at  Tournon,  July  15,  1536.  The 
Duke  of  Orleans  became  the  heir  to  the  throne,  and  as- 
sumed the  title  of  Dauphin.  He  was  eighteen  years  old, 
and  Catherine  seventeen. 

The  position  of  the  new  Dauphiness  was  becoming 
very  difficult.  Though  she  had  been  married  for  three 
years,  she  had  no  children,  and  people  said  she  never 
could  have  any.  A  beautiful  and  imperious  woman,  ac- 
customed to  power,  Diana  of  Poitiers,  had  subjugated 
the  heart  of  Catherine's  husband,  and  Catherine,  with 
rare  penetration,  saw  at  once  that  it  would  be  im.possible 
to  contend  with  her.  And  yet  Diana  of  Poitiers,  born 
in  1499,  was  twenty-three  years  older  than  the 
Dauphiness.  But  she  was  an  enchantress,  an  Armida, 
a  woman  full  of  seduction  and  prestige,  whose  charm 
was  like  a  talisman  to  bewitch  the  feeble  Henry. 

During  the  last  years  of  the  reign  of  Francis  I.,  a 
feminine  duel  raged  between  the  two  favorites,  the 
Duchess  d'fitampes,  mistress  of  the  King,  and  Diana  of 
Poitiers,  mistress  of  the  Dauphin.    The  court  was  divided 


142  These  Splendid  Women 

into  two  camps,  and  the  King,  instead  of  putting  a  stop 
to  the  quarrels,  disputes,  and  intrigues,  took  a  certain 
pleasure  in  them.  It  was  a  war  of  slanders,  calumnies, 
and  epigrams.  Very  proud  of  being  ten  years  younger 
than  her  rival,  the  Duchess  who,  according  to  her  flatterers, 
was  the  most  learned  of  beauties  and  the  most  beautiful 
of  learned  women,  triumphed  insolently,  and  wanted  to 
see  the  whole  court  at  her  feet.  Queen  Eleanor,  the 
sister  of  Charles  V.,  a  gentle,  modest  woman,  kept  her- 
self apart,  and  sought  consolation  in  piety  and  in  reading, 
of  which  she  was  passionately  fond.  The  Duchess 
d'j^tampes  had  all  power  in  her  hands.  The  Emperor 
was  well  aware  of  this.  When  he  was  in  France,  the  King 
had  said  to  him,  pointing  to  his  favorite:  "Brother, 
there  is  a  beautiful  lady  who  thinks  I  ought  not  to  let 
you  depart  until  you  revoke  the  treaty  of  Madrid,"  and 
he  contented  himself  with  answering  coldly:  "If  the 
advice  is  good,  you  must  follow  it."  But  the  same  day 
at  dinner  he  let  a  diamond  of  great  value  drop  before 
the  Duchess,  who  was  giving  him  his  napkin,  and  refused 
to  take  it  back,  saying:  "Madame,  it  is  in  too  fair 
hands." 

The  wily  monarch  knew  how  to  make  an  ally  of  his 
rival's  mistress.  She  became  the  head  of  the  party  which 
desired  him  to  base  French  policy  on  an  agreement  with 
the  Emperor.  Diana  supported  the  contrary  opinion,  and 
the  struggle  between  the  two  women  attained  the  propor- 
tions of  a  great  affair  of  state.  Poets  and  artists  took 
part  in  this  rivalry  of  women  which  occupied  the  court 
more  than  that  between  Francis  I.  and  Charles  V.  While 
Primaticio  endlessly  reproduced  the  features  of  the 
Duchess  d'fitampes  in  the  decorations  of  the  royal  gal- 
leries, Benvenuto  Cellini  chose  as  his  model  Diana  of 
Poitiers,  the  beautiful  huntress,  and  in  his  Memoirs  the 
famous  engraver  has  detailed  in  the  most  picturesque 
fashion  his  quarrels  with  the  King's  mistress  and  Prima- 
ticio.    The  poets  enlisted  on  the  side  of   the  Duchess 


These  Splendid  Women  143 

d'fitampes  celebrate  her  as  a  resplendent,  unparalleled 
beauty,  and  were  one  to  judge  by  their  French  and  Latin 
epigrams,  the  Seneschale  was  nothing  but  a  toothless,  hair- 
less, old  woman,  who  owed  her  remnant  of  deceptive 
brilliancy  to  paint. 

A  less  intelligent  woman  than  Catherine  would  have 
ranged  herself  openly  on  the  side  of  the  Duchess,  and 
tried  to  form  a  league,  a  connection  with  the  powerful 
favorite,  for  an  attack  on  the  Seneschale.  But  this  bold 
stroke  would  not  have  been  in  keeping  with  the  tem- 
porizing genius  of  the  Florentine.  She  understood  that 
in  declaring  against  Diana  she  would  run  a  risk  of  being 
repudiated,  and  instead  of  clashing  with  a  force  which 
was  now  irresistible,  she  employed  all  her  skill  in  re- 
maining on  equally  good  terms  with  both  the  favorites, 
irreconcilable  enemies  though  they  were.  Thus  the 
woman,  who  was  thereafter  to  occupy  so  great  a  place, 
now  sought  only  to  efface  herself;  she  seemed  a  real 
model  of  simplicity  and  reserve.  Francis  I.,  to  whom 
she  had  never  occasioned  any  vexation,  was  astonished 
and  enraptured.  He  attributed  her  precocious  wisdom  to 
his  instructions,  and  was  both  pleased  and  flattered  by  it. 
As  to  the  Dauphin,  in  spite  of  the  lack  of  warmth  in  his 
affection  for  his  wife,  he  could  not  avoid  doing  justice 
to  her  physical  and  moral  qualities. 

The  menage  a  trois  continued  therefore,  and  if  the 
Dauphin  loved  his  mistress  he  certainly  had  a  friendship 
for  his  wife.  And,  on  her  part,  whenever  she  felt  an 
inclination  to  complain  of  her  lot,  Catherine  bethought 
herself  that  if  she  quitted  her  position  she  would  prob- 
ably find  no  refuge  but  the  cloister,  and  that,  taking  it 
all  round,  the  court  of  France,  in  spite  of  the  humilia- 
tions and  vexations  one  might  experience  there,  was  an 
abode  less  disagreeable  than  a  convent. 

At  the  end  of  nine  years  of  marriage,  she  had  still  no 
children,  and  was  constantly  troubled  by  fear  of  a  divorce. 
"It  is  unknown,"  says  Varillas,  ^'whether  Francis  I.  had 


144  These  Splendid  Women 

been  deterred  from  such  a  step  by  its  visible  injustice, 
the  oaths  by  which  Clement  VII.  had  bound  him  never 
to  send  away  this  Princess  who  was  his  niece,  or  the 
pity  inspired  by  Catherine,  whose  condition  was  then  so 
deplorable  that  no  place  of  refuge  would  have  been  open 
to  her,  the  new  Duke  of  Florence  being  too  politic  to  re- 
ceive her  in  his  dominions  where  her  rights  exceeded  his ; 
or,  finally,  by  the  address  of  Catherine  herself,  who 
spared  no  pains  to  preserve  the  rank  her  uncle  had  ac- 
quired for  her."  The  account  given  by  the  Venetian 
ambassador,  Lorenzo  Contarini,  explains  how  prudently 
Catherine  averted  the  dangers  impending  over  her: 
"She  went  to  the  King  and  told  him  she  had  heard  it  was 
His  Majesty's  intention  to  give  his  son  another  wife,  and 
as  it  had  not  yet  pleased  God  to  bestow  on  her  the  grace 
of  having  children,  it  was  proper  that,  as  soon  as  His 
Majesty  found  it  disagreeable  to  wait  longer,  he  should 
provide  for  the  succession  to  so  great  a  throne;  that,  for 
her  part,  considering  the  great  obligations  she  was  under 
to  His  Majesty,  who  had  deigned  to  accept  her  as  a 
daughter-in-law,  she  was  much  more  disposed  to  endure 
this  affliction  than  to  oppose  his  will,  and  was  deter- 
mined either  to  enter  a  convent  or  remain  in  his  service 
and  his  favor.  This  communication  she  made  to  King 
Francis  I.,  with  many  tears  and  much  emotion.  The  noble 
and  indulgent  heart  of  the  King  was  so  greatly  moved  by 
it  that  he  replied :  'Daughter,  do  not  fear  that,  since  God 
has  willed  you  to  be  my  daughter-in-law,  I  would  have 
it  otherwise;  perhaps  it  will  yet  please  Him  to  grant  to 
you  and  to  me,  the  grace  we  desire  more  than  anything 
else  in  the  world.'  Not  long  afterwards  she  became  preg- 
nant, and  in  the  year  1543  she  brought  a  male  infant 
into  the  world  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  everybody." 
Not  long  before,  a  Venetian  ambassador,  Matteo 
Dandolo,  had  written  concerning  Catherine:  "Her 
Majesty  is  so  much  liked  by  both  the  court  and  the 
people,  that  I  think  there  is  no  one  who  would  not  shed 


These  Splendid  Women  145 

some  of  his  blood  to  procure  her  a  son."  She  was  as 
fruitful  in  the  later  years  of  her  marriage  as  she  had 
at  first  been  sterile.  Between  1543  and  1555  she  had  ten 
children.  As  soon  as  she  became  a  mother  she  felt  re- 
assured. Her  fear  of  divorce  departed,  and  the  wily 
Princess  inwardly  congratulated  herself  on  the  prudence 
which  had  extricated  her  from  a  difficult  situation.  Much 
younger  than  Diana  of  Poitiers,  she  waited  for  time  to 
put  her  in  the  right  and  brilliantly  avenge  her.  The 
astrologers,  who  were  her  counsellors,  had  promised  her 
domination.  Relying  on  their  words,  she  waited.  An  in- 
terior voice  said  to  her  :  "Thou  shalt  govern !"  She  did 
not  doubt  it  for  an  instant,  and  each  day  brought  her 
nearer  to  her  goal.  To  her  might  be  applied  the  famous 
saying:    Genius  is  a  long  patience. 


^y^ciry  Queen  of  ^cots 

A  Portrait  Study ^  By  Aiidrew  Lang — The 

Execution^   By   Alphonse  de  Lamar  tine — 

A  Defense  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots^  By 

Algernon  C.  Swinburne 

A  Portrait  Study 

By  ANDREW  LANG 

THE  Queen  is  a  tall  girl  of  twenty-four,  with 
brown  hair,  and  sidelong  eyes  of  red  brown.  Such 
are  her  sidelong  eyes  in  the  Morton  portrait;  such 
she  bequeathed  to  her  great-great-grandson,  James,  "the 
King  over  the  Water."  She  was  half  French  in  temper, 
one  of  the  proud  bold  Guises,  by  her  mother's  side;  and 
if  not  beautiful,  she  was  so  beguiling  that  Elizabeth  rec- 
ognized her  magic  even  in  the  reports  of  her  enemies.' 
"This  lady  and  Princess  is  a  notable  woman,"  said 
Knollys ;  "she  showeth  a  disposition  to  speak  much,  to  be 
bold,  to  be  pleasant,  and  to  be  very  familiar.  She  showeth 
a  great  desire  to  be  avenged  of  her  enemies,  she  showeth 
a  readiness  to  expose  herself  to  all  perils  in  hope  of 
victory,  she  delighteth  much  to  hear  of  hardiness  and 
valiance,  commending  by  name  all  approved  hardy  men  of 
her  country,  although  they  be  her  enemies,  and  concealeth 
no  cowardice  even  in  her  friends." 

There  was  something  "divine,"  Elizabeth  said,  in  the 
face  and  manner  which  won  the  hearts  of  her  gaolers  in 
Loch  Leven  and  in  England.  "Heaven  bless  that  sweet 
face!"  cried  the  people  in  the  streets  as  the  Queen  rode 


These  Splendid  Women  147 

by,  or  swept  along  with  the  long  train,  the  "targetted 
tails"  and  "stinking  pride  of  women/'  that  Knox  de- 
nounced. 

She  was  gay,  as  when  Randolph  met  her,  in  no  more 
state  than  a  burgess's  wife  might  use,  in  the  little  house 
of  St.  Andrews,  hard  by  the  desecrated  Cathedral.  She 
could  be  madly  mirthful,  dancing,  or  walking  the  black 
midnight  streets  of  Edinburgh,  masked,  in  male  apparel, 
or  flitting  in  "homely  attire,"  said  her  enemies,  about  the 
Market  Cross  in  Stirling.  She  loved,  at  sea,  to  "handle 
the  boisterous  cables,"  as  Buchanan  tells.  Pursuing 
her  brother,  Moray,  on  a  day  of  storm,  or  hard  on  the 
doomed  Huntly's  track  among  the  hills  and  morasses  of 
the  North;  or  galloping  through  the  red  bracken  of 
the  October  moors,  and  the  hills  of  the  robbers,  to  Her- 
mitage; her  energy  outwore  the  picked  warriors  in  her 
company.  At  other  times,  in  a  fascinating  languor,  she 
would  lie  long  abed,  receiving  company  in  the  French 
fashion,  waited  on  by  her  Maries,  whose  four  names  "are 
four  sweet  symphonies,"  Mary  Seton  and  Mary  Beaton, 
Mary  Fleming  and  Mary  Livingstone.  To  the  Council 
Board  she  would  bring  her  woman's  work,  embroidery  of 
silk  and  gold.  She  was  fabled  to  have  carried  pistols  at 
her  saddle-bow  in  war,  and  she  excelled  in  matches  of 
archery  and  pall-mall. 

Her  costumes,  when  she  would  be  queenly,  have  left 
their  mark  on  the  memory  of  men:  the  ruff  from  which 
rose  the  snowy  neck;  the  brocaded  bodice,  with  puffed 
and  jewelled  sleeves  and  stomacher;  the  diamonds,  gifts 
of  Henri  H.  or  of  Diane;  the  rich  pearls  that  became 
the  spoil  of  Elizabeth ;  the  brooches  enamelled  with  sacred 
scenes,  or  scenes  from  fable.  Many  of  her  jewels — the 
ruby  tortoise  given  by  Riccio;  the  enamel  of  the  mouse 
and  the  ensnared  lioness,  passed  by  Lethington  as  a  token 
into  her  dungeon  of  Loch  Leven;  the  diamonds  be- 
queathed by  her  to  one  whom  she  might  not  name;  the 
red   enamelled   wedding-ring,  the  gift  of   Darnley;   the 


148  These  Splendid  Women 

diamond  worn  in  her  bosom,  the  betrothal  present  of 
Norfolk — are,  to  our  fancy,  like  the  fabled  star-ruby 
of  Helen  of  Troy,  that  dripped  with  blood-gouts  which 
vanished  as  they  fell.  Riccio,  Darnley,  Lethington,  Nor- 
folk, the  donors  of  these  jewels,  they  were  all  to  die  for 
her,  as  Bothwell,  too,  was  to  perish,  the  giver  of  the 
diamond  carried  by  Paris,  the  recipient  of  the  black 
betrothal  ring  enamelled  with  bones  and  tears.  "Her  feet 
go  down  to  death,"  her  feet  that  were  so  light  in  the 
dance,  "her  steps  take  hold  on  hell.  .  .  .  Her  lips 
drop  as  an  honeycomb,  and  her  mouth  is  smoother  than 
oil.  But  her  end  is  bitter  as  wormwood,  sharp  as  a  two- 
edged  sword."  The  lips  that  dropped  as  honeycomb, 
the  laughing  mouth,  could  wildly  threaten,  and  vainly  rage 
or  beseech,  when  she  was  entrapped  at  Carberry ;  or  could 
waken  pity  in  the  sternest  Puritan  when,  half-clad,  her 
bosom  bare,  her  loose  hair  flowing,  she  wailed  from  her 
window  to  the  crowd  of  hostile  Edinburgh. 

She  was  of  a  high  impatient  spirit:  we  seem  to  rec- 
ognize her  in  an  anecdote  told  by  the  Black  Laird  of 
Ormistoun,  one  of  Darnley 's  murderers,  in  prison  before 
his  execution.  He  had  been  warned  by  his  brother,  in 
a  letter,  that  he  was  suspected  of  the  crime,  and  should 
"get  some  good  way  to  purge  himself."  He  showed  the 
letter  to  Bothwell,  who  read  it,  and  gave  it  to  Mary. 
She  glanced  at  it,  handed  it  to  Huntly,  "and  thereafter 
turnit  unto  me,  and  turnit  her  back,  and  gave  ane  thring 
with  her  shoulder,  and  passit  away,  and  spake  nothing 
to  me."  But  that  "thring"  spoke  much  of  Mary's  mood, 
unrepentant,  contemptuous,  defiant. 

Mary's  gratitude  was  not  of  the  kind  proverbial  in 
princes.  In  September  1571,  when  the  Ridolfi  plot  col- 
lapsed, and  Mary's  household  was  reduced,  her  sorest 
grief  was  for  Archibald  Beaton,  her  usher,  and  little 
Willie  Douglas,  who  rescued  her  from  Loch  Leven.  They 
were  to  be  sent  to  Scotland,  which  meant  death  to  both, 
and  she  pleaded  pitifully  for  them.    To  her  servants  she 


These  Splendid  Wo?nen  149 

wrote :  "I  thank  God,  who  has  given  me  strength  to  en- 
dure, and  I  pray  Him  to  grant  you  the  Hke  grace.  To 
you  will  your  loyalty  bring  the  greatest  honor,  and 
whensoever  it  pleases  God  to  set  me  free,  I  will  never 
fail  you,  but  reward  you  according  to  my  power.  .  .  . 
Pray  God  that  you  be  true  men  and  constant,  to  such  He 
will  never  deny  his  grace,  and  for  you.  John  Gordon  and 
WiUiam  Douglas,  I  pray  that  He  will  inspire  your  hearts. 
I  can  no  more.  Live  in  friendship  and  holy  charity  one 
with  another,  bearing  each  other's  imperfections.  .  .  . 
You,  William  Douglas,  be  assured  that  the  life  which  you 
hazarded  for  me  shall  never  be  destitute  while  I  have  one 
friend  alive." 

In  a  trifling  transaction  she  writes:  "Rather  would  I 
pay  twice  over,  than  injure  or  suspect  any  man." 

In  the  long  lament  of  her  letters  written  during  her 
twenty  years  of  captivity,  but  a  few  moods  return  and 
repeat  themselves,  Hke  phrases  in  a  fugue.  Vain  com- 
plaints, vain  hopes,  vain  intrigues  with  Spain,  France,  the 
Pope,  the  Guises,  the  English  Catholics,  succeed  each 
other  with  futile  iteration.  But  always  we  hear  the  note 
of  loyalty  even  to  her  humblest  servants,  of  sleepless 
memory  of  their  sacrifices  for  her,  of  unstinting  and  gen- 
erous gratitude.  Such  was  the  Queen's  ''natural,"  mon 
naturcl:  with  this  character  she  faced  the  worlds  a  lady 
to  live  and  die  for:  and  many  died. 

This  woman,  sensitive,  proud,  tameless,  fierce,  and 
kind,  was  browbeaten  by  the  implacable  Knox ;  her  priests 
were  scourged  and  pilloried,  her  creed  was  outraged 
every  day;  herself  scolded,  preached  at,  insulted;  her 
every  plan  thwarted  by  Elizabeth.  Mary  had  reason 
enough  for  tears  even  before  her  servant  was  slain  almost 
in  her  sight  by  her  witless  husband  and  the  merciless 
Lords.  She  could  be  gay,  later,  dancing  and  hunting, 
but  it  may  well  be  that,  after  this  last  and  worst  of  cruel 
insults,  her  heart  had  now  become  hard  as  the  dia- 
mond; and  that  she  was  possessed  by  the  evil  spirits  of 


150  These  Splendid  Women 

loathing,  and  hatred,  and  longing  for  revenge.  It  had 
not  been  a  hard  heart,  but  a  tender;  capable  of  sorrow 
for  slaves  at  the  galley  oars.  After  her  child's  birth, 
when  she  was  holiday-making  at  Alloa,  according  to 
Buchanan,  with  Bothwell  and  his  gang  of  pirates,  she 
wrote  to  the  Laird  of  Abercairnie,  bidding  him  be  merci- 
ful to  a  poor  woman  and  her  "company  of  puir  bairnis" 
whom  he  had  evicted  from  their  "kindly  rowme,"  or  little 
croft. 

Her  more  than  masculine  courage  her  enemies  have 
never  denied.  Her  resolution  was  incapable  of  despair ; 
**her  last  word  should  be  that  of  a  Queen."  Her  plighted 
promise  she  revered,  but,  in  such  an  age,  a  woman's 
weapon  was  deceit. 

She  was  the  centre  and  pivot  of  innumerable  intrigues. 
The  fierce  nobles  looked  on  her  as  a  means  for  procuring 
lands,  office,  and  revenge  on  their  feudal  enemies.  To 
the  fiercer  ministers  she  was  an  idolatress,  who  ought  to 
die  the  death,  and,  meanwhile,  must  be  thwarted  and  in- 
sulted. To  France,  Spain,  and  Austria  she  was  a  piece 
in  the  game  of  diplomatic  chess.  To  the  Pope  she  seemed 
an  instrument  that  might  win  back  both  Scotland  and 
England  for  the  Church,  while  the  English  Catholics 
regarded  her  as  either  their  lawful  or  their  future  Queen. 
To  Elizabeth  she  was,  naturally,  and  inevitably,  and,  in 
part,  by  her  own  fault,  a  deadly  rival;  whatever  feline 
caresses  might  pass  between  them;  gifts  of  Mary's  heart, 
in  a  heart-shaped  diamond;  Elizabeth's  diamond  "like  a 
rock,"  a  rock  in  which  was  no  refuge.  Yet  Mary  was 
of  a  nature  so  large  and  unsuspicious  that,  on  the  strength 
of  a  ring  and  a  promise,  she  trusted  herself  to  Elizabeth, 
contrary  to  the  advice  of  her  staunchest  adherents.  She 
was  no  natural  dissembler,  and  with  difficulty  came  to 
understand  that  others  could  be  false.  Her  sense  oi 
honour  might  become  perverted,  but  she  had  a  strong 
native  sense  of  honour. 

One  thing  this  woman  wanted,  a  master.    Even  before 


These  Splendid  Women  151 

Darnley  and  she  were  wedded,  at  least  publicly,  Randolph 
wrote,  **A11  honour  that  may  be  attributed  unto  any  man 
by  a  wife,  he  hath  it  wholly  and  fully."  In  her  authentic 
letters  to  Norfolk,  when,  a  captive  in  England,  she  re- 
garded herself  as  betrothed  to  him,  we  find  her  adopting 
an  attitude  of  submissive  obedience.  The  same  tone  per- 
vades the  disputed  Casket  Letters,  to  Bothwell,  and  is 
certainly  in  singular  consonance  with  the  later,  and  gen- 
uine epistles  to  Norfolk.  But  the  tone — if  the  Casket 
Letters  are  forged — may  have  been  borrowed  from  what 
was  known  of  her  early  submission  to  Darnley. 


The  Executio72 

By  ALPHONSE  DE  LAMARTINE 

THE  punishment  of  her  friends  impressed  Mary 
with  a  presentiment  of  her  own  fate.  Involved 
in  their  plots,  and  more  feared  than  they  were, 
she  could  not  long  remain  in  suspense  as  to  her  own  des- 
tiny. She  was  carried,  in  fact,  some  days  afterward  to 
Fotheringay  Castle,  her  last  prison.  This  feudal  resi- 
dence was  solemn  and  gloomy,  even  as  the  hour  of  ap- 
proaching death.  Elizabeth,  after  long  and  serious  de- 
liberation, at  last  named  thirty-six  judges  to  examine 
Mary  and  report  to  the  council.  The  Queen  of  Scots 
protested  against  the  right  of  trying  a  queen  and  of  judg- 
ing her  in  a  foreign  country,  where  she  was  forcibly  de- 
tained as  a  prisoner. 

"Is  it  thus,"  cried  she,  when  she  appeared  before  the 
commissioners,  "that  Queen  Elizabeth  makes  kings  to  be 
tried  by  their  subjects?  I  only  accept  this  place"  (point- 
ing to  a  seat  lower  than  that  of  the  judges)  "because 
as  a  Christian  I  humble  myself.    My  place  is  there,"  she 


152  These  Splendid  Women 

added,  raising  her  hand  toward  the  dais.  "I  was  a  queen 
from  the  cradle,  and  the  first  day  that  saw  me  a  woman 
saw  me  a  queen!"  Then  turning  toward  Melvil,  her 
esquire,  and  the  chief  of  her  household,  on  whose  arm  she 
leaned,  she  said,  "Here  are  many  judges,  but  not  one 
friend !" 

She  denied  energetically  having  consented  to  the  plan 
for  assassinating  Elizabeth;  she  insinuated,  but  without 
formally  asserting,  that  secretaries  might  easily  have 
added  to  the  meaning  of  the  letters  dictated  to  them,  as 
none  were  produced  in  her  own  handwriting.  "When  I 
came  to  Scotland,"  she  said  to  Lord  Burleigh,  the  prin- 
cipal minister,  who  interrogated  her,  "I  offered  to  your 
mistress,  through  Lethington,  a  ring  shaped  like  a  heart, 
in  token  of  my  friendship ;  and  when,  overcome  by  rebels, 
I  entered  England,  I  in  my  turn  received  from  her  this 
pledge  of  encouragement  and  protection."  Saying  these 
words,  she  drew  from  her  finger  the  ring  which  had  been 
sent  her  by  Elizabeth.  "Look  at  this,  my  lords,  and 
answer.  During  the  eighteen  years  that  I  have  passed 
under  your  bolts  and  bars,  how  often  have  your  queen 
and  the  English  people  despised  it  in  my  person!" 

The  commissioners,  on  their  return  to  London,  assem- 
bled at  Westminster,  declared  the  Queen  of  Scots  guilty 
of  participation  in  the  plot  against  the  hfe  of  Elizabeth, 
and  pronounced  upon  her  sentence  of  death.  The  two 
houses  of  parliament  ratified  the  sentence. 

Mary  asked,  as  a  single  favor,  not  to  be  executed  in 
secret,  but  before  her  servants  and  the  people,  so  that  no 
one  might  attribute  to  her  a  cowardice  unworthy  of  her 
rank,  and  that  all  might  bear  testimony  to  her  constancy 
in  suffering  martyrdom.  Thus  she  already  spoke  of  her 
punishment,  a  consolatory  idea  most  natural  in  a  queen 
who  desired  that  her  death  should  be  imputed  to  her  faith 
rather  than  to  her  faults.  She  wrote  letters  to  all  her 
relatives  and  friends  in  France  and  Scotland. 


These  Splendid  Women  153 

"My  good  cousin,"  she  wrote  to  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
**who  are  the  most  dear  to  me  in  the  world,  I  bid  you 
farewell,  being  ready  by  unjust  judgment  to  be  put  to 
death — what  no  one  of  our  race,  thanks  to  God,  has  ever 
suffered,  much  less  one  of  my  quality.  But,  praise  God, 
my  good  cousin,  for  I  was  useless  in  the  world  to  the 
cause  of  God  and  of  his  Church,  being  in  the  state  in 
which  I  was;  and  I  hope  that  my  death  will  testify  my 
constancy  in  the  faith,  and  my  readiness  to  die  for  the 
maintenance  and  restoration  of  the  Catholic  Church  in 
this  unhappy  island ;  and  though  never  executioner  dipped 
his  hands  in  our  blood,  be  not  ashamed,  my  friend,  for 
the  judgment  of  heretics  and  the  enemies  of  the  Church, 
who  have  no  jurisdiction  over  me,  a  free  queen,  is  prof- 
itable before  God  to  the  children  of  his  Church.  If  I  had 
yielded  to  them  I  would  not  have  suffered  this  stroke.  All 
of  our  house  have  been  persecuted  by  this  sect;  witness 
your  good  father,  with  whom  I  hope  to  be  received  by 
the  mercy  of  the  just  Judge.  I  recommend  to  you  my 
poor  servants,  the  payment  of  my  debts,  and  the  founding 
of  some  annual  masses  for  my  soul ;  not  at  your  expense, 
but  to  make  solicitation  and  ordinance  as  may  be  required, 
and  as  you  will  learn  my  intentions  from  my  poor  af- 
flicted  servants,   eye-witnesses   of   this   my   last  tragedy. 

"God  prosper  you,  your  wife,  children,  brothers,  and 
cousins,  and  above  all  our  chief,  my  good  brother  and 
cousin,  and  all  his.  May  the  blessing  of  God  and  that 
which  I  would  bestow  on  my  children  be  yours,  whom  I 
recommend  less  to  God  than  my  own — who  is  unfortunate 
and  ill-used. 

"You  will  receive  tokens  from  me  to  remind  you  to  pray 
for  the  soul  of  your  poor  cousin,  deprived  of  all  help  and 
counsel  but  that  of  God,  who  gives  me  strength  and  cour- 
age to  resist  alone  so  many  wolves  howling  after  me;  to 
Him  be  the  glory. 

"Believe,  in  particular,  what  will  be  told  you  by  a  per- 
son who  will  give  you  a  ruby  ring  from  me,  for  I  take  it 


154  These  Splendid  Women 

to  my  conscience  that  you  shall  be  told  the  truth  in  that 
with  which  I  have  charged  her,  specially  as  to  what  regards 
my  poor  servants,  and  the  share  of  each.  I  recommend 
to  you  this  person  for  her  simple  sincerity  and  honesty. 
that  she  may  be  settled  in  some  good  place.  I  have 
chosen  her  as  the  least  partial,  and  who  will  the  more 
plainly  report  to  you  my  commands.  I  pray  you  that  it 
be  not  known  that  she  have  said  anything  particular  to 
you,  for  envy  might  injure  her. 

**I  have  suffered  much  for  two  years  and  more,  and 
have  not  made  it  known  to  you  for  an  important  reason. 
God  be  praised  for  all,  and  give  you  the  grace  to  per- 
severe in  the  service  of  the  Church  as  long  as  you  live; 
and  never  may  this  honor  depart  from  our  race,  that, 
men  as  well  as  women,  we  have  been  ready  to  shed  our 
blood  to  maintain  the  cause  of  the  faith,  putting  aside 
all  other  worldly  conditions;  as  for  me,  I  esteem  myself 
born,  on  both  father's  and  mother's  side,  to  offer  my 
blood  in  this  matter,  and  have  no  intention  of  falling  back. 
Jesus  crucified  for  us  and  all  the  holy  martyrs,  make  us, 
through  their  intercession,  worthy  of  the  voluntary  sac- 
rifice of  our  bodies  for  his  glory ! 

"Thinking  to  humble  me,  my  dais  had  been  thrown 
down,  and,  afterward,  my  guardian  offered  to  WTite  to 
the  queen,  as  this  act  was  not  by  her  command,  but  by 
the  advice  of  some  one  in  the  council.  I  showed  them,  in 
place  of  my  arms  on  the  said  dais,  the  cross  of  my 
Saviour.  You  will  understand  all  this  discourse;  they 
were  milder  afterward." 

This  letter  is  signed,  "Votre  affectionee  cousine  et 
parfaitte  amye-Marie  R.  d'Ecosse,  D.  de  France." 

When  she  was  shown  the  ratification  of  her  sentence, 
and  the  order  for  her  execution  signed  by  Elizabeth,  she 
tranquilly  remarked,  "It  is  well;  this  is  the  generosity 
of  Queen  Elizabeth!  Could  any  one  believe  she  would 
have  dared  to  go  to  these  extremities  with  me,  who  am 


These  Splendid  Women  155 

her  sister  and  her  equal,  and  who  could  not  be  her  sub- 
ject ?  Nevertheless,  God  be  praised  for  all,  since  he  does 
me  this  honor  of  dying  for  him  and  for  his  Church  I 
Blessed  be  the  moment  that  will  end  my  sad  pilgrimage; 
a  soul  so  cowardly  as  not  to  accept  this  last  combat  on 
earth  would  be  unworthy  of  heaven  l'* 

On  the  last  moments  of  her  life  we  shall  follow  the 
learned  and  pathetic  historian  who  has  treasured  up,  so 
to  speak,  her  last  sighs.  The  queen,  guilty  till  then,  be- 
came transformed  into  a  martyr  by  the  approach  of  death. 
When  the  soul  is  truly  great  it  grows  with  its  destiny; 
her  destiny  was  sublime,  for  it  was  at  once  an  accepted 
expiation  and  rehabilitation  through  blood. 

It  was  night,  and  she  entered  her  chapel  and  prayed, 
with  her  naked  knees  on  the  bare  pavement.  She  then 
said  to  her  women,  *'I  would  eat  something,  so  that  my 
heart  may  not  fail  me  to-morrow,  and  that  I  may  do 
nothing  to  make  my  friends  ashamed  of  me."  Her  last 
repast  was  sober,  solemn,  but  not  without  some  sallies 
of  humor.  "Wherefore,"  she  asked  Bastien,  who  had 
been  her  chief  buffoon,  *'dost  thou  not  seek  to  amuse  me  ? 
Thou  art  a  good  mimic,  but  a  better  servant." 

Returning  soon  after  to  the  idea  that  her  death  was  a 
martyrdom,  and  addressing  Bourgoin,  her  physician,  who 
waited  on  her,  and  Melvil,  her  steward,  who  were  both 
kept  under  arrest,  as  well  as  Preaux,  her  almoner : 
"Bourgoin,"  said  she,  "did  you  hear  the  Earl  of  Kent? 
It  would  have  taken  another  kind  of  doctor  to  convict 
me.  He  has  acknowledged  besides  that  the  warrant  for 
my  execution  is  the  triumph  of  heresy  in  this  country. 
It  is  true,"  she  rejoined  with  pious  satisfaction,  "they  put 
me  to  death  not  as  an  accomplice  of  conspiracy,  but  as 
a  queen  devoted  to  the  Church.  Before  their  tribunal  my 
faith  is  my  crime,  and  the  same  shall  be  my  justification 
before  my  Sovereign  Judge." 

Her  maidens,  her  officers,  all  her  attendants  were 
struck  with  grief,  and  looked  upon  her  in  silence,  being 


156  These  Splendid  Women 

scarcely  able  to  contain  themselves.  Toward  the  end  of 
the  repast  Mary  spoke  of  her  testament,  in  which  none 
of  their  names  were  to  be  omitted.  She  asked  for  the 
silver  and  jewels  which  remained,  and  distributed  them 
with  her  hand  as  with  her  heart.  She  addressed  fare- 
wells to  each,  with  that  delicate  tact  so  natural  to  her,  and 
w^ith  kindly  emotion.  She  asked  their  pardon,  and  gave 
her  own  to  every  one  present  or  absent,  her  secretary 
Nau  excepted.  They  all  burst  into  sobs,  and  threw  them- 
selves on  their  knees  around  the  table.  The  queen,  much 
moved,  drank  to  their  health,  inviting  them  to  drink 
also  to  her  salvation.  They  weepingly  obeyed,  and  in 
their  turn  drank  to  their  mistress,  carrying  to  their  lips 
the  cups  in  which  their  tears  mingled  with  the  wine. 

The  queen,  affected  at  this  sad  spectacle,  wished  to  be 
alone.  She  composed  her  last  will.  When  written  and 
finished,  Mary,  alone  in  her  chamber  with  Jane  Kennedy 
and  Elizabeth  Curie,  asks  how  much  money  she  has  left. 
She  possessed  five  thousand  crowns,  which  she  separates 
into  as  many  lots  as  she  has  servants,  proportioning  the 
sums  to  their  various  ranks,  functions,  and  wants.  These 
portions  she  placed  in  an  equal  number  of  purses  for  the 
following  day.  She  then  asked  for  water,  and  had  her 
feet  washed  by  her  maids  of  honor.  Afterwards  she 
wrote  to  the  King  of  France: 

*T  recommend  to  you  my  servants  once  more.  You 
will  ordain,  if  it  please  you,  for  my  soul's  sake,  that  I  be 
paid  the  sum  that  you  owe  to  me,  and  that  for  the  honor 
of  Jesus  Christ,  to  whom  I  shall  pray  for  you  to-morrow 
at  the  hour  of  my  death,  there  may  be  enough  to  found 
a  mass  for  the  repose  of  my  soul,  and  for  the  needful 
alms.  This  Wednesday,  at  two  of  the  clock  after  mid- 
night. 

"M.  R." 

She  now  felt  the  necessity  for  repose,  and  lay  down  on 


These  Splendid  Women  157 

her  bed.  On  her  women  approaching  her,  she  said,  "I 
would  have  preferred  a  sword  in  the  French  manner, 
rather  than  this  axe."  She  then  fell  asleep  for  a  short 
time,  and  even  during  her  slumber  her  lips  moved  as 
if  in  prayer.  Her  face,  as  if  lighted  up  from  within 
with  a  spiritual  beatitude,  never  shone  with  a  beauty  so 
charming  and  so  pure.  It  was  illuminated  with  so  sweet 
a  ravishment,  so  bathed  in  the  grace  of  God,  that  she 
seemed  to  "smile  with  the  angels,"  according  to  the  ex- 
pression of  Elizabeth  Curie.  She  slept  and  prayed,  pray- 
ing more  than  she  slept,  by  the  light  of  a  little  silver  lamp 
given  her  by  Henry  H.,  and  which  she  had  preserved 
through  all  her  fortunes.  This  little  lamp,  Mary's  last 
light  in  her  prison,  was  as  the  twilight  of  her  tomb; 
humble  implement  made  tragic  by  the  memories  it  recalls ! 

Awaking  before  daylight,  the  queen  rose.  Her  first 
thoughts  were  for  eternity.  She  looked  at  the  clock,  and 
said,  "I  have  only  two  hours  to  live  here  below."  It  was 
now  six  o'clock. 

She  added  a  postscript  to  her  letter  addressed  to  the 
King  of  France,  requesting  that  the  interest  of  her  dowry 
should  be  paid  after  her  death  to  her  servants ;  that  their 
wages  and  pensions  should  continue  during  their  lives; 
that  her  physician  (Bourgoin)  should  be  received  into  the 
service  of  the  king,  and  that  Didier,  an  old  officer  of 
her  household,  might  retain  the  place  she  had  given  him. 
She  added,  "Moreover,  that  my  almoner  may  be  restored 
to  his  estate,  and  in  my  favor  provided  with  some  small 
curacy,  where  he  may  pray  God  for  my  soul  during  the 
rest  of  his  life."  The  letter  was  thus  subscribed :  "Faict 
le  matin  de  ma  mort,  ce  mercredy  huitiesme  Fevrier, 
1587.  Marie,  Royne.  Done  on  this  morning  of  my 
death,  this  Wednesday,  eighth  February,  1587.  Mary, 
Queen." 

A  pale  winter  daybreak  illuminated  these  last  lines. 
Mary  perceived  it,  and,  calling  to  her  Elizabeth  Curie  and 


158  These  Splendid  Women 

Jane  Kennedy,  made  a  sign  to  them  to  robe  her  for  this 
last  ceremony  of  royalty.  While  their  friendly  hands 
thus  apparelled  her  she  remained  silent.  When  fully 
dressed  she  placed  herself  before  one  of  her  two  large 
mirrors  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl,  and  seemed  to  con- 
sider her  face  with  pity.  She  then  turned  round  and 
said  to  her  maidens:  "This  is  the  moment  to  guard 
against  weakness.  I  remember  that,  in  my  youth,  my 
uncle  Francis  said  to  me  one  day  in  his  house  at  Meudon, 
*My  niece,  there  is  one  mark  above  all  by  which  I  rec- 
ognize you  as  of  my  own  blood.  You  are  brave  as  the 
bravest  of  my  men-at-arms,  and  if  women  still  fought  as 
in  the  old  times,  I  think  you  would  know  well  how  to 
die.'  It  remains  for  me  to  show  to  both  friends  and 
enemies  from  what  race  I  have  sprung." 

She  had  asked  for  her  almoner  Preaux;  two  Prot- 
estant ministers  were  sent  to  her.  "Madam,  we  come  to 
console  you,"  they  said,  stepping  over  the  threshold  of 
her  chamber.  "Are  you  Catholic  priests?"  she  cried. 
"No,"  replied  they.  "Then  I  will  have  no  comforter  but 
Jesus,"  she  added,  with  a  melancholy  firmness. 

She  now  entered  her  chapel.  She  had  there  prepared 
with  her  own  hands  an  altar,  before  which  her  almoner 
sometimes  said  mass  to  her  secretly.  There,  kneeling 
down,  she  repeated  many  prayers  in  a  low  voice.  She 
was  reciting  the  prayers  for  the  dying  when  a  knock  at 
the  door  of  her  chamber  suddenly  interrupted  her.  "What 
do  they  wish  of  me  ?"  asked  the  queen,  arising.  Bourgoin 
replied  from  the  chamber  where  he  was  placed  with  the 
other  servants,  that  the  lords  awaited  her  Majesty.  "It 
is  not  yet  time,"  she  replied ;  "let  them  return  at  the  hour 
fixed."  Then,  throwing  herself  anew  on  her  knees  be- 
tween Elizabeth  Curie  and  Jane  Kennedy,  she  melted  into 
tears,  and  striking  her  breast  gave  thanks  to  God  for  all, 
praying  to  Him  fervently  and  with  deep  sobs  that  He 
would  support  her  in  her  last  trial.  Becoming  calmer  by 
degrees,  in  trying  to  calm  her  two  companions,  she  re- 


These  Splendid  Women  159 

niained  for  some  time  in  silent  and  supreme  converse 
with  her  God. 

What  was  passing  at  that  moment  within  her  con- 
science ? 

She  then  went  to  the  window,  looked  out  upon  the 
calm  sky,  the  river,  the  meadows,  the  woods.  Returning 
to  the  middle  of  the  chamber  and  casting  her  eyes  toward 
the  time-piece  (called  la  Realc),  she  said  to  Jane,  **The 
hour  has  struck,  they  will  soon  be  here." 

Scarcely  had  she  pronounced  these  words  when  An- 
drew, sheriff  of  the  county  of  Northampton,  knocked  a 
second  time  at  the  door,  and,  her  women  drawing  back, 
she  mildly  commanded  them  to  open  it.  The  officer  of 
justice  entered,  dressed  in  mourning,  a  white  rod  in  his 
right  hand,  and,  bowing  before  the  queen,  twice  repeated, 
*'I  am  here." 

A  slight  blush  mounted  to  the  queen's  cheeks,  and,  ad- 
vancing with  majesty,  she  said,  ''Let  us  go." 

She  took  with  her  the  ivory  crucifix,  which  had  never 
left  her  for  seventeen  years,  and  which  she  had  carried 
from  cell  to  cell,  suspending  it  in  the  various  cliapels  of 
her  captivity.  As  she  suffered  much  from  pains  brought 
on  by  the  dampness  of  her  prisons,  she  leaned  on  two 
of  her  domestics,  who  led  her  to  the  threshold  of  the 
chamber.  There  they  stopped,  and  Bourgoin  explained  to 
the  queen  the  strange  scruple  of  her  attendants,  who  de- 
sired to  avoid  the  appearance  of  conducting  her  to 
slaughter.  The  queen,  though  she  would  have  preferred 
their  support,  made  allowance  for  their  weakness,  and 
was  content  to  lean  on  two  of  Paulet's  guards.  Then  all 
her  attendants  accompanied  her  to  the  uppermost  flight  of 
stairs,  where  the  guards  barred  their  passage  in  spite  of 
their  supplications,  despair,  and  lamentations,  with  their 
arms  extended  toward  the  dear  mistress  whose  footsteps 
they  were  hindered  from  following. 

The  queen,  deeply  pained,  slightly  quickened  her  steps, 


,160  These  Splendid  Women 

with  the  design  of  protesting  against  this  violence  and  of 
obtaining  a  more  fitting  escort. 

Sir  Amyas  Paulet  and  Sir  Drew  Drury,  the  governor 
of  Fotheringay,  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  the  Earl  of 
Kent,  the  other  commissioners,  and  many  strangers  of 
distinction,  among  whom  were  Sir  Henry  Talbot,  Edward 
and  William  Montague,  Sir  Richard  Knightly,  Thomas 
Brudnell  Bevil,  Robert  and  John  Wingfield,  received  her 
at  the  bottom  of  the  stair. 

Perceiving  Melvil  bent  down  with  grief,  "Courage,  my 
faithful  friend,"  she  said;  "learn  to  resign  thyself."  "Ah, 
madam,"  cried  Melvil,  approaching  his  mistress  and  fall- 
ing at  her  feet,  "I  have  lived  too  long,  since  my  eyes  now 
see  you  the  prey  of  the  executioner,  and  since  my  lips 
must  tell  of  this  fearful  punishment  in  Scotland."  Sobs 
then  burst  from  his  breast  instead  of  words. 

"No  weakness,  my  dear  Melvil!"  she  added.  "Pity 
those  who  thirst  for  my  blood,  and  who  shed  it  unjustly. 
As  for  me,  I  make  no  complaint.  Life  is  but  a  valley  of 
tears,  and  I  leave  it  without  regret.  I  die  for  the  Catholic 
faith,  and  in  the  CathoHc  faith;  I  die  the  friend  of  Scot- 
land and  of  France.  Bear  testimony  everywhere  to  the 
truth.  Once  more,  cease,  Melvil,  to  afflict  thyself ;  rather 
rejoice  that  the  misfortunes  of  Mary  Stuart  are  at  an  end. 
Tell  my  son  to  remember  his  mother." 

While  the  queen  spoke,  Melvil,  still  on  his  knees,  shed 
a  torrent  of  tears.  Mary,  having  raised  him  up,  took  his 
hand,  and,  leaning  forward,  embraced  him.  "Farewell," 
she  added,  "farewell,  my  dear  Melvil ;  never  forget  me  in 
thy  heart  or  thy  prayers !" 

Addressing  the  Earls  of  Shrewsbury  and  Kent,  she 
then  asked  that  her  secretary  Curie  might  be  pardoned ; 
Nau  was  left  out.  The  earls  keeping  silence,  she  again 
prayed  them  to  allow  her  women  and  servants  to  accom- 
pany her,  and  to  be  present  at  her  death.  The  Earl  of 
Kent  replied  that  such  a  course  would  be  unusual,  and 
even  dangerous ;  that  the  boldest  would  desire  to  dip  their 


These  Splendid  Women  161 

handkerchiefs  in  her  blood;  that  the  most  timid,  and, 
above  all,  the  women,  would  at  least  trouble  the  course  of 
Elizabeth's  justice  by  their  cries.  Mary  persisted.  "My 
lords,"  said  she,  "if  your  queen  were  here,  your  virgin 
queen,  she  would  not  think  it  fitting  for  my  rank  and  my 
sex  to  die  in  the  midst  of  men  only,  and  would  grant  me 
some  of  my  women  to  be  beside  my  hard  and  last  pil- 
low." Her  words  were  so  eloquent  and  touching  that  the 
lords  who  surrounded  her  would  have  yielded  to  her  re- 
quest but  for  the  obstinacy  of  the  Earl  of  Kent.  The 
queen  perceived  this,  and,  looking  upon  the  puritan  earl, 
she  cried  in  a  deep  voice, 

"Shed  the  blood  of  Henry  VH.,  but  despise  it  not. 
Am  I  not  still  Mary  Stuart?  a  sister  of  your  mistress  and 
her  equal :  twice  crowned ;  twice  a  queen ;  dowager  Queen 
of  France ;  legitimate  Queen  of  Scotland."  The  earl  was 
affected,  but  still  unyielding. 

Mary,  with  softer  look  and  accent,  then  said,  "My 
lords,  I  give  you  my  word  that  my  servants  will  avoid 
all  you  fear.  Alas!  the  poor  souls  will  do  nothing  but 
take  farewell  of  me;  surely  you  will  not  refuse  this  sad 
satisfaction  either  to  me  or  to  them?  Think,  my  lords, 
of  your  own  servants,  of  those  who  please  you  best;  the 
nurses  who  have  suckled  you ;  the  squires  who  have  borne 
your  arms  in  war;  these  servants  of  your  prosperity  are 
less  dear  to  you  than  to  me  are  the  attendants  of  my 
misfortunes.  Once  more,  my  lords,  do  not  send  away 
mine  in  my  last  moments.  They  desire  nothing  but  to 
remain  faithful  to  me,  to  love  me  to  the  end,  and  to  see 
me  die." 

The  peers,  after  consultation,  agreed  to  Mary's  wishes. 
The  Earl  of  Kent  said,  however,  that  he  was  still  doubtful 
of  the  effect  of  their  lamentations  on  the  assistants,  and 
on  the  queen  herself. 

"I  will  answer  for  them,"  Mary  replied;  "their  love 
for  me  will  give  them  strength,  and  my  example  will  lend 
them  courage.    To  me  it  will  be  sweet  to  know  they  are 


162  These  Splendid  Women 

there,  and  that  I  shall  have  witnesses  of  my  perseverance 
in  the  faith.'* 

The  commissioners  did  not  insist  further,  and  granted 
to  the  queen  four  attendants  and  two  of  her  maidens. 
She  chose  Melvil  her  steward,  Bourgoin  her  physician, 
Gervais  her  surgeon,  Gosion  her  druggist,  Jane  Kennedy 
and  Elizabeth  Curie,  the  two  companions  who  had  re- 
placed Elizabeth  Pierrepoint  in  her  heart.  Melvil,  who 
was  present,  was  called  by  the  queen  herself,  and  an  usher 
of  Lord  Paulet  was  sent  for  the  others,  who  had  remained 
at  the  upper  balcony  of  the  stair,  and  who  now  hastened 
down,  happy  even  in  their  anguish  to  perform  this  last 
duty  of  devotion  and  fidelity. 

Appeased  by  this  complaisance  on  the  part  of  the  earls, 
the  queen  beckoned  to  the  sheriiT  and  his  followers  to 
advance.  She  was  the  first  to  lead  the  melancholy  proces- 
sion to  the  scaffold. 

She  arrived  in  the  hall  of  death.  Pale,  but  unflinching, 
she  contemplated  the  dismal  preparations.  There  lay  the 
block  and  the  axe.  There  stood  the  executioner  and  his 
assistant.  All  were  clothed  in  mourning.  On  the  floor 
was  scattered  the  sawdust  which  was  to  soak  her  blood, 
and  in  a  dark  corner  lay  the  bier  which  was  to  be  her 
last  prison. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  queen  appeared  in  the 
funeral  hall.  Fletcher,  Dean  of  Peterborough,  and  certain 
privileged  persons  to  the  number  of  more  than  two  hun- 
dred, were  assembled.  The  hall  was  hung  with  black 
cloth;  the  scaffold,  which  was  elevated  about  two  feet 
and  a  half  above  the  ground,  was  covered  with  black 
frieze  of  Lancaster ;  the  armed  chair  in  which  Mary  was 
to  sit,  the  footstool  on  which  she  was  to  kneel,  the  block 
on  which  her  head  was  to  be  laid,  was  covered  with  black 
velvet. 

The  queen  was  clothed  in  mourning  like  the  hall  and  as 
the  ensigns  of  punishment.  Her  black  velvet  robe,  with 
its  high  collar  and  hanging  sleeves,  was  bordered  with 


These  Splendid  Women  163 

ermine.  Her  mantle,  lined  with  marten  sable,  was  of 
satin,  with  pearl  buttons  and  a  long  train.  A  chain  of 
sweet-smelling  beads,  to  which  was  attached  a  scapulary, 
and  beneath  that  a  golden  cross,  fell  upon  her  bosom. 
Two  rosaries  were  suspended  to  her  girdle,  and  a  long  veil 
of  white  lace,  which,  in  some  measure,  softened  this 
costume  of  a  widow  and  of  a  condemned  criminal,  was 
thrown  around  her. 

She  was  preceded  by  the  sheriff,  by  Drury  and  Paulet, 
the  earls  and  nobles  of  England,  and  followed  by  her 
two  maidens  and  four  officers,  among  whom  was  re- 
marked Melvil,  bearing  the  train  of  the  royal  robe. 
Mary's  walk  was  firm  and  majestic.  For  a  single  moment 
she  raised  her  veil,  and  her  face,  on  which  shone  a  hope 
no  longer  of  this  world,  seemed  beautiful  as  in  the  days 
of  her  youth.  The  whole  assembly  were  deeply  moved. 
In  one  hand  she  held  a  crucifix  and  in  the  other  one  of 
her  chaplets. 

The  Earl  of  Kent  rudely  addressed  her,  "We  should 
wear  Christ  in  our  hearts." 

"And  wherefore,"  she  replied  quickly,  "should  I  have 
Christ  in  my  hand  if  he  were  not  in  my  heart?"  Paulet 
assisting  her  to  mount  the  scaffold,  she  threw  upon  him 
a  look  full  of  sweetness. 

"Sir  Amyas,"  she  said,  "I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy ; 
it  is  the  last  trouble  I  will  give  you,  and  the  most  agreeable 
service  you  can  render  me." 

Arrived  on  the  scaffold,  Mary  seated  herself  in  the 
chair  provided  for  her,  with  her  face  toward  the  spec- 
tators. The  Dean  of  Peterborough,  in  ecclesiastical  cos- 
tume, sat  on  the  right  of  the  queen,  with  a  black  velvet 
footstool  before  him.  The  Earls  of  Kent  and  Shrewsbury 
were  seated  like  him  on  the  right,  but  upon  larger  chairs. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  queen  stood  the  sheriff  Andrews, 
with  white  wand.  In  front  of  Mary  were  seen  the  execu- 
tioner and  his  assistant,  distinguishable  by  their  vestments 
of  black  velvet,  with  red  crape  round  the  left  arm.     Be- 


164  These  Splendid  Women 

hind  the  queen's  chair,  ranged  by  the  wall,  wept  her  at- 
tendants and  maidens.  In  the  body  of  the  hall  the  nobles 
and  citizens  from  the  neighboring  counties  were  guarded 
by  the  musketeers  of  Sir  Amyas  and  Sir  Drew  Drury. 
Beyond  the  balustrade  was  the  bar  of  the  tribunal.  The 
sentence  was  read;  the  queen  protested  against  it  in  the 
name  of  royalty  and  innocence,  but  accepted  death  for 
the  sake  of  the  faith. 

She  then  knelt  down  before  the  block,  and  the  execu- 
tioner proceeded  to  remove  her  veil.  She  repelled  him  by 
a  gesture,  and  turning  toward  the  earls  with  a  blush  on 
her  forehead,  "I  am  not  accustomed,"  she  said,  "to  be 
undressed  before  so  numerous  a  company,  and  by  the 
hands  of  such  grooms  of  the  chamber." 

She  then  called  Jane  Kennedy  and  Elizabeth  Curie, 
who  took  off  her  mantle,  her  veil,  her  chains,  cross,  and 
scapulary.  On  their  touching  her  robe,  the  queen  told 
them  to  unloose  the  corsage  and  fold  down  the  ermine 
collar,  so  as  to  leave  her  neck  bare  for  the  axe.  Her 
maidens  weepingly  yielded  her  these  last  services.  Melvil 
and  the  three  other  attendants  wept  and  lamented,  and 
Mary  placed  her  finger  on  her  lips  to  signify  that  they 
should  be  silent. 

"My  friends,"  she  cried,  "I  have  answered  for  you,  do 
not  melt  me ;  ought  you  not  rather  to  praise  God  for  hav- 
ing inspired  your  mistress  with  courage  and  resignation  ?" 
Yielding,  however,  in  her  turn  to  her  own  sensibility,  she 
warmly  embraced  her  maidens;  then  pressing  them  to 
descend  from  the  scaffold,  where  they  both  clung  to  her 
dress,  with  hands  bathed  in  their  tears,  she  addressed  to 
them  a  tender  blessing  and  a  last  farewell.  Melvil  and 
his  companions  remained,  as  if  choked  with  grief,  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  queen.  Overcome  by  her  accents, 
the  executioners  themselves  besought  her  on  their  knees 
to  pardon  them. 

"I  pardon  you,"  she  said,  "after  the  example  of  my 
Redeemer." 


These  Splendid  Women  165 

She  then  arranged  the  handkerchief  embroidered  with 
thistles  of  gold,  with  which  her  eyes  had  been  covered  by 
Jane  Kennedy.  Thrice  she  kissed  the  crucifix,  each  time 
repeating,  "Lord,  into  thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit." 
She  knelt  anew,  and  leaned  her  head  on  that  block  which 
was  already  scored  with  deep  marks  and  in  this  solemn 
attitude  she  again  recited  some  verses  from  the  psalms. 
The  executioner  interrupted  her  at  the  third  verse  by  a 
blow  of  the  axe,  but  its  trembling  stroke  only  grazed  her 
neck ;  she  groaned  slightly,  and  the  second  blow  separated 
the  head  from  the  body.  The  executioner  held  it  up  at  the 
window,  within  sight  of  all,  proclaiming  aloud,  according 
to  usage,  "So  perish  the  enemies  of  our  queen!" 

The  queen's  maids  of  honor  and  attendants  enshrouded 
the  body,  and  claimed  it,  in  order  that  it  should  be  sent 
to  France;  but  these  relics  of  their  tenderness  and  faith 
were  pitilessly  refused.  Relics  which  might  rekindle 
fanaticism  were  to  be  feared. 

But  that  cruel  prudence  was  deceived  by  the  result. 
Mary's  death  resembled  a  martyrdom ;  her  memory,  which 
had  been  execrated  alike  by  the  Scottish  Presbyterians 
and  the  English  Protestants,  was  practically  adopted  by 
the  Catholics  as  that  of  a  saint.  The  passions  were 
Mary's  judges;  therefore  she  was  not  fairly  judged,  nor 
will  she  ever  be. 

Elizabeth,  having  thus  mercilessly  sacrificed  the  life 
of  her  whom  she  had  so  long  and  so  unjustly  retained  in 
hopeless  captivity,  now  added  the  most  flagrant  duplicity 
to  her  cruelty.  Denying,  with  many  oaths,  all  intention 
of  having  her  own  warrant  carried  into  execution,  she 
attempted  to  throw  the  entire  odium  on  those  who  in 
reality  had  acted  as  her  blind  and  devoted  agents.  This 
poHcy  of  the  English  queen  was  unsuccessful,  however; 
posterity  has  with  clear  voice  proclaimed  her  guilty  of 
the  blood  of  her  royal  sister,  and  the  sanguinary  stain 
will  ever  remain  ineffaceable  from  the  character  of  that 
otherwise  great  sovereign. 


166  These  Splendid  Women 

If  we  regard  Mary  Stuart  in  the  light  of  her  charms, 
her  talents,  her  magical  influence  over  all  men  who  ap- 
proached her,  she  may  be  called  the  Sappho  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  All  that  was  not  love  in  her  soul  was 
poetry ;  her  verses,  like  those  of  Ronsard,  her  worshipper 
and  teacher,  possess  a  Greek  softness  combined  with  a 
quaint  simplicity;  they  are  written  with  tears,  and  even 
after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years  retain  something  of  the 
warmth  of  her  sighs. 

If  we  judge  her  by  her  life,  she  is  the  Scottish  Semir- 
amis;  casting  herself,  before  the  eyes  of  all  Europe,  into 
the  arms  of  the  assassin  of  her  husband,  and  thus  giving 
to  the  people  she  had  thrown  into  civil  war  a  coronation 
of  murder  for  a  lesson  of  morality. 

Her  direct  and  personal  participation  in  the  death  of 
her  young  husband  has  been  denied,  and  nothing  in  effect, 
except  those  suspected  letters,  proves  that  she  actually  and 
personally  accomplished  or  permitted  the  crime;  but  that 
she  had  attracted  the  victim  into  the  snare ;  that  she  had 
given  Both  well  the  right  and  the  hope  of  succeeding  to  the 
throne  after  his  death;  that  she  had  been  the  end,  the 
means,  and  the  alleged  prize  of  the  crime;  finally,  that 
she  absolved  the  murderer  by  bestowing  upon  him  her 
hand — no  doubt  can  be  entertained  regarding  these  points. 
To  provoke  to  murder  and  then  to  absolve  the  perpetrator 
— is  not  this  equivalent  to  guilt? 

In  fine,  if  she  be  judged  by  her  death — comparable, 
in  its  majesty,  its  piety,  and  its  courage,  to  the  most  heroic 
and  the  holiest  sacrifices  of  the  primitive  martyrs — the 
horror  and  aversion  with  which  she  had  been  regarded 
change  at  last  to  pity,  esteem,  and  admiration.  As  long 
as  there  was  no  expiation  she  remained  a  criminal;  by 
expiation  she  became  a  victim.  In  her  history  blood  seems 
to  be  washed  out  by  blood ;  the  guilt  of  her  former  years 
flows,  as  it  were,  from  her  veins  with  the  crimson  stream ; 
we  do  not  absolve,  we  sympathize ;  our  pity  is  not  absolu- 
tion, but  rather  approaches  to  love ;  we  try  to  find  excuses 


These  Splendid  Women  167 

for  her  conduct  in  the  ferocious  and  dissolute  manners 
of  the  age ;  in  that  education,  depraved,  sanguinary,  and 
fanatical,  which  she  received  at  the  court  of  the  Valois ;  in 
her  youth,  her  beauty,  her  love.  We  are  constrained  to 
say  with  M.  Dargaud — to  whom  we  feel  deeply  indebted 
for  the  researches  which  have  guided  us — "We  judge  not ; 
we  only  relate." 


A  Defense  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 

By  ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE 

AMONG  the  various  points  of  view  taken  in  times 
past  and  present  by  students  of  a  subject* 
which  must  surely  have  lost  its  interest  long 
since  if  that  interest  were  less  than  inexhaustible,  I  have 
always  missed,  and  wondered  at  the  general  oversight 
which  appears  to  ignore  it,  one  which  would  most  nat- 
urally seem  to  present  itself  for  candid  and  rational  con- 
sideration by  either  party  to  the  argument.  Every  shade 
of  possible  opinion  on  the  matter  has  found  in  its  various 
champions  every  possible  gradation  of  ability  in  debate. 
And  the  universal  result,  as  it  appears  to  an  outsider — 
to  a  student  of  history  unconscious  alike  of  prejudice 
and  prepossession — is  that  they  who  came  to  curse  the 
memory  of  Mary  Stuart  have  blessed  it  as  with  the  bless- 
ing of  a  Balaam,  and  they  who  came  to  bless  it,  with 
tribute  of  panegyric  or  with  testimony  in  defence,  have 
inevitably  and  invariably  cursed  it  altogether.  To  vin- 
dicate her  from  the  imputations  of  her  vindicators  would 
be  the  truest  service  that  could  now  be  done  by  the  most 
loyal  devotion  to  her  name  and  fame. 

A  more  thorough,  more  earnest,  and  on  the  whole  a 
more  able  apology  for  any  disputed  or  debatable  char- 


168  These  Splendid  Women 

acter  in  all  the  range  of  history  it  would  indeed  be  hard 
to  find  than  that  which  has  been  attempted  by  Mr.  Hosack 
in  his  two  copious  and  laborious  volumes  on  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots  and  her  Accusers.  Every  point  of  vantage 
throughout  the  intricacies  of  irreconcilable  evidence  is 
clearly  seen,  is  swiftly  seized,  is  manfully  defended.  And 
the  ultimate  outcome  of  all  is  the  presentation  of  a  figure 
beside  which,  I  do  not  say  the  Mary  Stuart  of  Mr. 
Froude,  but  the  Mary  Stuart  of  George  Buchanan,  is  an 
accepfable  and  respectable  type  of  royal  womanhood — a 
pardonable  if  not  admirable  example  of  human  character. 
Many  bitter  and  terrible  things  were  said  of  that  woman 
in  her  lifetime  by  many  fierce  and  unscrupulous  enemies 
of  her  person  or  her  creed:  many  grave  and  crushing 
charges  were  alleged  against  her  on  plausible  or  improb- 
able grounds  of  impeachment  or  suspicion.  But  two 
things  were  never  imputed  to  her  by  the  most  reckless 
ferocity  of  malice  or  of  fear.  No  one  ever  dreamed  of 
saying  that  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  was  a  fool.  And  no 
one  ever  dared  to  suggest  that  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 
was  a  coward. 

That  there  are  fewer  moral  impossibilities  than  would 
readily  be  granted  by  the  professional  moralist,  those 
students  of  human  character  who  are  not  professional 
moralists  may  very  readily  admit.  A  very  short  and  a 
very  narrow  experience  will  suffice  to  preserve  a  man — 
or  for  that  matter  a  boy — of  average  intelligence  from  any 
sense  of  shocked  astonishment  when  his  expectation  is 
confronted  by  "fears  of  the  brave  and  follies  of  the 
wise,"  instances  of  mercy  in  the  unmerciful  or  cruelty  in 
the  humane.  But  there  is  a  limit  to  the  uttermost  range 
of  such  paradoxical  possibilities.  And  that  limit  is 
reached  and  crossed,  cleared  at  a  leap  and  left  far  out 
of  sight,  by  the  theorist  who  demands  our  assent  to  such 
a  theorem  as  this :  That  a  woman  whose  intelligence  was 
below  the  average  level  of  imbecility,  and  whose  courage 
was  below  the  average  level  of  a  coward's,  should  have 


These  Splendid  Women  169 

succeeded  throughout  the  whole  course  of  a  singularly 
restless  and  adventurous  career  in  imposing  herself  upon 
the  judgment  of  every  man  and  woman  with  whom  she 
ever  came  into  any  sort  or  kind  of  contact,  as  a  person 
of  the  most  brilliant  abilities  and  the  most  dauntless 
daring.  Credat  Catholicus;  for  such  faith  must  surely 
exceed  the  most  credulous  capacity  of  ancient  Jew  or 
modern  Gentile. 

But  this  is  not  all,  or  nearly  all.  Let  us  admit,  though 
it  be  no  small  admission,  that  Mary  Stuart,  who  cer- 
tainly managed  to  pass  herself  off  upon  every  one  who 
came  near  her  under  any  circumstances  as  the  brightest 
and  the  bravest  creature  of  her  kind  in  any  rank  or  any 
country  of  the  world,  was  dastard  enough  to  be  cowed 
into  a  marriage  which  she  was  idiot  enough  to  imagine 
could  be  less  than  irretrievable  ruin  to  her  last  chance  of 
honour  or  prosperity.  The  violence  of  Bothwell  and  the 
perfidy  of  her  council  imposed  forsooth  this  miserable 
necessity  on  the  credulous  though  reluctant  victim  of  brute 
force  on  the  one  hand  and  treasonable  fraud  on  the  other. 
Persuaded  by  the  request  and  convinced  by  the  reasoning 
of  those  about  her,  Lucretia  felt  it  nothing  less  than  a 
duty  to  accept  the  hand  of  Tarquin  yet  reeking  from  the 
blood  of  Collatinus.  The  situation  is  worthy  of  one  of 
Mr.  Gilbert's  incomparable  ballads  or  burlesques ;  and  her 
contemporaries,  Catholic  or  Protestant,  friend  or  foe,  rival 
or  ally,  may  be  forgiven  if  they  failed  at  once  to  grasp 
and  realize  it  as  a  sufficiently  plausible  solution  of  all 
doubts  and  difficulties  not  otherwise  as  rationally  ex- 
plicable. Yet  possibly  it  may  not  be  impossible  that  an 
exceptionally  stupid  girl,  reared  from  her  babyhood  in  an 
atmosphere  of  artificially  exceptional  innocence,  might 
play  at  once  the  active  and  the  passive  part  assigned  to 
Mary,  before  and  after  the  execution  of  the  plot  against 
her  husband's  life,  by  the  traducers  who  have  undertaken 
her  defence.  But  for  this  improbability  to  be  possible 
it  is  obviously  necessary  to  assume  in  this  pitiable  puppet 


170  These  Splendid  Women 

an  extent  of  ignorance  to  be  equalled  only,  and  scarcely, 
by  the  depth  and  density  of  her  dulness.  A  woman 
utterly  wanting  in  tact,  intuition,  perception  of  character 
or  grasp  of  circumstance — a  woman  abnormally  devoid  of 
such  native  instinct  and  such  acquired  insight  as  would 
suffice  to  preserve  all  but  the  dullest  of  natures  from 
ludicrous  indiscretion  and  perilous  indelicacy — ^might  per- 
haps for  lack  of  experience  be  betrayed  into  such  a  suc- 
cession of  mishaps  as  the  training  of  an  ideally  rigid 
convent  might  have  left  it  difficult  or  impossible  for  her 
fatuous  innocence  to  foresee.  But  of  the  convent  in  which 
Mary  Stuart  had  passed  her  novitiate  the  Lady  Superior 
was  Queen  Catherine  de  Medici.  The  virgins  who  shared 
the  vigils  of  her  maidenhood  or  brightened  the  celebration 
of  her  nuptials  were  such  as  composed  the  Queen- 
Mother's  famous  "flying  squadron'*  of  high-born  harlots, 
professionally  employed  in  the  task  of  making  the  wor- 
ship of  Venus  Pandemos  subserve  the  purposes  of  Cath- 
olic faith  or  polity,  and  occasionally,  as  on  the  Feast  of 
St.  Bartholomew,  exhilarated  by  such  diversions  as  the 
jocose  examination  of  naked  and  newly-murdered  corpses 
with  an  eye  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  curiosity  which  the 
secular  pen  of  a  modern  historian  must  decline  to  explain 
with  the  frankness  of  a  clerical  contemporary.  The 
cloistral  precinct  which  sheltered  her  girlhood  from  such 
knowledge  of  evil  as  might  in  after  days  have  been  of 
seme  protection  to  her  guileless  levity  was  the  circuit  of 
a  court  whose  pursuits  and  recreations  were  divided  be- 
tween the  alcoves  of  Sodom  and  the  playground  of  Acel- 
dama. What  were  the  vices  of  the  society  described  by 
Brantome  it  is  impossible,  or  at  least  it  would  be  re- 
pulsive, to  suggest  by  so  much  as  a  hint:  but  its  virtues 
were  homicide  and  adultery.  Knox  or  Ascham  would 
have  given  plainer  and  juster  expression,  in  shorter  terms 
of  speech  more  purely  English,  to  the  fact  that  no  man 
was  honoured  who  could  not  show  blood  on  his  hands, 
no  woman  admired  who  would  not  boast  as  loudly  of  the 


These  Splendid  Women  111 

favours  she  had  granted  as  her  gallants  of  the  favours 
they  had  received.  It  is  but  a  slight  matter  to  add  that 
the  girl  who  was  reared  from  her  very  infancy  in  this  at- 
mosphere— in  the  atmosphere  of  a  palace  which  it  would 
be  flattery  to  call  a  brothel  or  a  slaughter-house — ^had  for 
her  mother  a  woman  of  the  blood-stained  house  of  Guise, 
and  for  her  father  the  gaberlunzie-man  or  jolly  beggar  of 
numberless  and  nameless  traditional  adventures  in  pro- 
miscuous erotic  intrigue.  The  question  of  family  is  of 
course  very  far  from  conclusive,  though  certainly  it  may 
help  "to  thicken  other  proofs  that  do  demonstrate  thinly.'* 
The  calendar  of  saints  includes  a  Borgia;  or,  to  put  it 
perhaps  more  forcibly,  the  house  of  Borgia  contains  a 
saint.  And  some  writers — Landor  among  them,  who  had 
little  love  for  the  brood — have  averred  that  the  Bonaparte 
family  did  once  produce  an  honest  man  and  equitable 
ruler — -Louis  king  of  Holland,  whose  only  son  gave  his 
life  in  vain  for  Italy.  It  would  certainly  have  been  no 
greater  miracle  than  these,  no  more  startling  exception 
to  the  general  rule,  that  the  daughter  of  James  V.  and 
Mary  of  Guise  should  have  been  a  blameless  though  imbe- 
cile creature,  an  innocent  in  the  least  flattering  sense  of 
the  word,  whose  blood  was  very  snow-broth  and  whose 
brain  a  very  feather.  But  mere  innocence,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  absolute  idiocy  which  even  her  warmest 
admirers  would  hesitate  to  ascribe  to  her,  will  hardly 
suffice  to  explain  her  course  of  conduct  in  the  most  critical 
period  of  her  life.  A  woman  who  could  play  the  part 
assigned  to  Mary  by  the  Whitakers,  Stricklands,  Aytouns, 
and  Hosacks  whose  laudations  have  so  cruelly  libelled  her, 
must  have  been  either  the  veriest  imbecile  whose  craven 
folly  ever  betrayed  in  every  action  an  innate  and  irre- 
sponsible impotence  of  mind,  or  at  least  and  at  best  a 
good  girl  of  timid  temper  and  weak  intellect,  who  had 
been  tenderly  sheltered  all  her  life  from  any  possible 
knowledge  or  understanding  of  evil,  from  all  apprehen- 
sion as  from  all  experience  of  wickedness  and  wrong. 


172  These  Splendid  Women 

Now  it  is  of  course  just  barely  possible  that  a  girl  might 
come  innocent  as  Shakespeare's  Marina  even  out  of  such 
a  house  of  entertainment  as  that  kept  by  the  last  princes 
of  the  race  of  Valois:  but  it  is  absolutely  and  glaringly 
impossible  that  she  should  come  forth  from  it  ignorant 
of  evil.  And  it  is  not  a  jot  less  impossible  that  an  in- 
nocent woman  who  was  not  animally  idiotic  or  angelically 
ignorant,  a  drivelling  craven  or  a  thing  enskied  and 
sainted,  the  pitifullest  or  the  purest,  the  most  thick-witted 
or  the  most  unspotted  of  her  kind,  could  have  borne  her- 
self as  did  Mary  after  the  murder  of  her  caitiff  husband. 
Let  us  assume,  though  it  is  no  small  assumption,  that  all 
her  enemies  were  liars  and  forgers.  Let  us  imagine  that 
except  among  her  adherents  there  was  not  a  man  of  any 
note  in  all  Scotland  who  was  not  capable  of  treason  as 
infamous  as  that  of  the  English  conspirators  on  her  be- 
half against  the  life  of  Elizabeth  and  the  commonwealth 
of  their  country.  Let  us  suppose  that  a  Buchanan,  for 
example,  was  what  Mr.  Hosack  has  called  him,  "the 
prince  of  literary  prostitutes" :  a  rascal  cowardly  enough 
to  put  forth  in  print  a  foul  and  formless  mass  of  undi- 
gested falsehood  and  rancorous  ribaldry,  and  venal  enough 
to  traffic  in  the  disgrace  of  his  dishonourable  name  for  a 
purpose  as  infamous  as  his  act.  Let  us  concede  that  a 
Maitland  was  cur  enough  to  steal  that  name  as  a  mask 
for  the  impudent  malice  of  ingratitude.  Let  us  allow  that 
Murray  may  have  been  the  unscrupulous  traitor  and 
Elizabeth  the  malignant  rival  of  Marian  tradition.  Let 
us  admit  that  the  truest  solution  of  a  complicated  riddle 
may  be  that  most  ingenious  theory  advocated  by  Mr. 
Hosack,  which  addresses  to  Darnley  instead  of  Bothwell 
the  most  passionate  and  pathetic  of  the  Casket  Letters,  and 
cancels  as  incongruous  forgeries  all  those  which  refuse  to 
fit  into  this  scheme  of  explanation.  Let  us  grant  that 
the  forgers  were  at  once  as  clumsy  as  Cloten  and  as  in- 
genious as  lago.  The  fact  remains  no  less  obvious  and 
obtrusive   than   before,   that  it   is   very   much   easier   to 


These  Splendid  Women  173 

blacken  the  fame  of  Mary's  confederate  enemies  than  to 
whitewash  the  reputation  of  Bothwell's  royal  wife.  And 
what  manner  of  whitewash  is  that  which  substitutes  for 
the  features  of  an  erring  but  heroic  woman  those  of  a 
creature  not  above  but  beneath  the  human  possibility  of 
error  or  of  sin? 

But  if  we  reject  as  incredible  the  ideal  of  Prince  La- 
l^anoff's  loyal  and  single-hearted  credulity,  does  it  follow 
that  we  must  accept  the  ideal  of  Mr.  Froude's  implacable 
and  single-eyed  animosity?  Was  the  mistress  of  Both- 
well,  the  murderess  of  Darnley,  the  conspiratress  against 
the  throne  and  life  of  her  kinswoman  and  hostess,  by  any 
necessary  consequence  the  mere  panther  and  serpent  of 
his  fascinating  and  magnificent  study  ?  This  seems  to  me 
no  more  certain  a  corollary  than  that  because  she  went  to 
the  scaffold  with  a  false  front  her  severed  head,  at  the 
age  of  forty-five,  must  have  been  that  "of  a  grizzled, 
wrinkled  old  woman."  By  such  flashes  of  fiery  and 
ostentatious  partisanship  the  brilliant  and  fervent  advocate 
of  the  Tudors  shows  his  hand,  if  I  may  say  so  without 
offence,  a  little  too  unconsciously  and  plainly.  And  his 
ultimate  conclusion  that  "she  was  a  bad  woman,  disguised 
in  the  livery  of  a  martyr,"  (vol.  12,  ch.  34)  seems  to  me 
not  much  better  supported  by  the  sum  of  evidence  produc- 
ible on  either  side  than  the  counter  inference  of  his  most 
pertinacious  antagonist  that  "this  illustrious  victim  of  sec- 
tarian violence  and  barbarous  statecraft  will  ever  occupy 
the  most  prominent  place  in  the  annals  of  her  sex" 
(Hosack,  vol.  2,  ch.  27).  There  are  annals  and  annals, 
from  the  Acta  Sanctorum  to  the  Newgate  Calendar.  In 
the  former  of  these  records  Mr.  Hosack,  in  the  latter  Mr. 
Froude,  would  inscribe — as  I  cannot  but  think,  with  equal 
unreason — the  name  of  Mary  Stuart. 

"She  was  a  bad  woman,"  says  the  ardent  and  energetic 
advocate  on  the  devil's  side  in  this  matter,  because  "she 
was  leaving  the  world  with  a  lie  on  her  lips,"  when  with 
her  last  breath  she  protested  her  innocence  of  the  charge 


174  These  Splendid  Women 

on  which  she  was  condemned  to  death.  But  the  God  of 
her  worship,  the  God  in  whom  she  trusted,  the  God  on 
whom  she  had  been  taught  to  lean  for  support  of  her 
conscience,  would  no  more  have  been  offended  at  this 
than  the  God  of  Dahomey  is  offended  by  human  sacrifice. 
Witness  all  the  leading  spirits  among  his  servants,  in  that 
age  if  in  no  other,  from  pope  to  king  and  from  king  to 
cutthroat — from  Gregory  XIII.  and  Sextus  V.  to  Philip 
II.  and  Charles  IX.,  and  from  Philip  II.  and  Charles  IX. 
to  Saulx-Tavannes  and  Maurevel.  To  their  God  and  hers 
a  lie  was  hardly  less  acceptable  service  than  a  murder ; 
Blessed  Judas  was  a  servant  only  less  commendable  than 
Saint  Cain.  Nor,  on  the  whole,  would  it  appear  that  the 
lapse  of  time  has  brought  any  perceptible  improvement  to 
the  moral  character  of  this  deity.  The  coup  d'etat  of 
August  24,  1572,  was  not  an  offering  of  sweeter  savour 
in  his  expansive  and  insatiable  nostrils  than  was  the  St. 
Bartholomew  of  December  2,  1851.  From  the  same 
chair  the  vicar  of  the  same  God  bestowed  the  same  ap- 
proving benediction  on  Florentine  and  on  Corsican  per- 
jurer and  murderer.  And  in  a  worshipper  of  this  divine 
devil,  in  the  ward  of  a  Medici  or  a  Bonaparte,  it  would  be 
an  inhuman  absurdity  to  expect  the  presence  or  condemn 
the  absence  of  what  nothing  far  short  of  a  miracle  could 
have  implanted — the  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  the  dis- 
tinction of  good  from  evil,  the  preference  of  truth  to 
falsehood.  The  heroine  of  Fotheringay  was  by  no  means 
a  bad  woman :  she  was  a  creature  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
a  Catholic  and  a  Queen.  What  is  really  remarkable  is 
what  is  really  admirable  in  her  nature,  and  was  inerad- 
icable as  surely  as  it  was  unteachable  by  royal  training 
or  by  religious  creed.  I  desire  no  better  evidence  in 
her  favour  than  may  be  gathered  from  the  admissions 
of  her  sternest  judge  and  bitterest  enemy.  "Throughout 
her  life,"  Mr.  Froude  allows,  "she  never  lacked  gratitude 
to  those  who  had  been  true  to  her. — Never  did  any  human 
creature  meet  death  more  bravely."    Except  in  the  dialect 


These  Splendid  Wotnen  175 

of  the  pulpit,  she  is  not  a  bad  woman  of  whom  so  much 
at  least  must  be  said  and  cannot  be  denied.  Had  she  been 
born  the  man  that  she  fain  would  have  been  born,  no 
historian  surely  would  have  refused  her  a  right  to  a 
high  place  among  other  heroes  and  above  other  kings.  All 
Mr.  Froude's  vituperative  terms  cannot  impair  the  nobility 
of  the  figure  he  presents  to  our  unapproving  admiration : 
all  Mr.  Hosack's  sympathetic  phrases  cannot  exalt  the 
poverty  of  the  spirit  he  exposes  for  our  unadmiring  com- 
passion. For  however  much  we  may  admire  the  courage 
he  ascribes  to  her  at  the  last,  we  cannot  remember  with 
less  than  contemptuous  pity  the  pusillanimous  imbecility 
which  on  his  showing  had  been  the  distinctive  quality  of 
her  miserable  life.  According  to  her  champion,  a  witness 
against  her  more  pitiless  than  John  Knox  or  Edmund 
Spenser,  she  had  done  nothing  in  her  time  of  trial  that 
an  innocent  woman  would  have  done,  and  left  nothing 
undone  that  an  innocent  woman  would  have  studiously 
abstained  from  doing,  if  she  had  not  been  in  the  idiotic 
sense  an  innocent  indeed.  But  it  is  in  their  respective 
presentations  of  the  closing  scene  at  Fotheringay  that  the 
incurable  prepossession  of  view  which  is  common  to  both 
advocates  alike  springs  suddenly  into  sharpest  illustration 
and  relief.  Mr.  Froude  cannot  refrain  from  assuming, 
on  grounds  too  slight  for  Macaulay  to  have  accepted  as 
sufficient  for  the  damnation  of  a  Jacobite,  that  on  receipt 
of  her  death-warrant  the  Queen  of  Scots  *'was  dreadfully 
agitated,"  and  "at  last  broke  down  altogether,"  before  the 
bearers  of  the  sudden  intelligence  had  left  her.  Now 
every  line  of  the  narrative  preceding  this  imputation 
makes  it  more  and  more  insuperably  difficult  to  believe 
that  in  all  her  dauntless  life  Queen  Mary  can  ever  have 
been  "dreadfully  agitated,"  except  by  anger  and  another 
passion  at  least  as  different  from  fear.  But  this  exhibition 
of  prepense  partisanship  is  nothing  to  the  grotesque 
nakedness  of  Mr.  Hosack's.  At  a  first  reading  it  is  dif- 
ficult for  a  reader  to  believe  the  evidence  of  his  eyesight 


176  These  Splendid  Wotnen 

when  he  finds  a  historian  who  writes  himself  **barrister- 
at-law,"  and  should  surely  have  some  inkling  of  the  moral 
weight  or  worth  of  evidence  as  to  character,  deliberately 
asserting  that  in  her  dying  appeal  for  revenge  to  the 
deadliest  enemy  of  England  and  its  queen,  Mary,  after 
studious  enumeration  of  every  man's  name  against  whom 
she  bore  such  resentment  as  she  desired  might  survive 
her  death,  and  strike  them  down  with  her  dead  hand  by 
way  of  retributive  sacrifice,  "exhibited  an  unparalleled 
instance  of  feminine  forbearance  and  generosity"  (the 
sarcasm  implied  on  womanhood  is  too  savage  for  the 
most  sweeping  satire  of  a  Thackeray  or  a  Pope)  "in  omit- 
ting the  name  of  Elizabeth."  0  sancta  simplicitas!  Who 
shall  say  after  this  that  the  practice  of  the  legal  profession 
is  liable  to  poison  the  gushing  springs  of  youth's  ingenu- 
ous trustfulness  and  single-minded   optimism? 

An  advocate  naturally  or  professionally  incapable  of 
such  guileless  confidence  and  ingenuous  self-betrayal  is 
Father  John  Morris,  "Priest  of  the  Society  of  Jesus," 
and  editor  of  "The  Letter-books  of  Sir  Amias  Poulet, 
Keeper  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots" :  a  volume  nothing  less 
than  invaluable  as  well  as  indispensable  to  all  serious 
students  of  the  subject  in  hand.  Writers  of  genius  and 
impetuosity  such  as  Mr.  Froude's  and  the  late  Canon 
Kingsley's  lay  themselves  open  at  many  points  of  minor 
importance  to  the  decisive  charge  or  the  wary  fence  of  an 
antagonist  expert  in  the  fine  art  of  controversy:  but  their 
main  or  ultimate  positions  may  prove  none  the  less  dif- 
ficult to  carry  by  the  process  of  countermine  or  other 
sacerdotal  tactics.  Father  Morris  is  not  quite  so  hard  on 
his  client  as  Mr.  Hasock:  for  by  admitting  something 
of  what  is  undeniable  in  the  charges  of  history  against 
her  he  attenuates  the  effect  and  diminishes  the  prom- 
inence of  his  inevitable  and  obvious  prepossessions :  and 
though  he  suggests  (p.  275)  that  "perhaps  Mary  was  not 
quite  'the  fiery  woman'  Mr.  Froude  imagines  her  to  have 
been,"  he  does  not  pretend  to  exhibit  her  as  the  watery 


These  Splendid  Women  111 

thing  of  tears  and  terrors  held  up  to  our  compassion  by 
the  relentless  if  unconscious  animosity  of  the  implacable 
counsel  for  her  defense. 

On  one  point  (p.  143)  the  pleading  of  Father  Morris 
must  in  no  inconsiderable  measure  command  the  sympathy 
of  all  Englishmen  who  honestly  love  fair  play,  and  that 
not  only  when  it  plays  into  their  own  hands.  It  is  surely 
much  more  than  high  time,  after  the  lapse  of  three  cen- 
turies, that  honest  and  generous  men  of  different  creeds 
and  parties  should  be  equally  ready  to  do  justice,  if  not 
to  each  other's  God, — since  Gods  are  by  necessity  of  na- 
ture irreconcilable  and  internecine, — at  least  to  the  mem- 
ories of  their  common  countrymen,  who  played  their  part 
manfully  in  their  day  on  either  side  with  fair  and  loyal 
weapons  of  attack  and  defence.  We  regard  with  disgust 
and  the  horror  of  revolted  conscience  that  vile  and  execra- 
ble doctrine  which  assures  us  in  childhood  that  the  glory 
.of  martyrdom  depends  on  the  martyr's  orthodoxy  of 
opinion,  on  the  accuracy  of  his  reckoning  or  the  justice 
of  his  conjecture  as  to  spiritual  matters  of  duty  or  of 
faith,  on  the  happiness  of  a  guess  or  the  soundness  of 
an  argument;  but  surely  it  profits  us  little  to  have  cleared 
our  conscience  of  such  a  creed  if  we  remain  incapable  of 
doing  justice  to  Jesuit  and  Calvinist,  creedsman  and 
atheist,  alike.  It  profits  us  little  if  we  are  to  involve 
in  one  ignominy  with  the  unscrupulous  and  treasonous 
intrigues  of  Parsons  and  Garnet  the  blameless  labours 
and  the  patient  heroism  of  Edmund  Campion.  So  far, 
then.  Father  Morris  has  a  good  card  in  hand,  and  plays 
it  well  and  fairly,  when  he  pleads,  for  example,  against 
Mr.  Froude's  charges,  and  on  behalf  of  his  own  famous 
Society,  that  "Gilbert  Gifford  had  no  'Jesuit  training,' 
and  'the  Order'  never  had  anything  to  do  with  him; — 
but  it  is  necessary  to  note  that  all  through  Mr.  Froude's 
History  he  habitually  styles  'Jesuits'  those  who  never 
had  anything  in  the  world  to  do  with  the  Society  of  which 
St.  Ignatius  Loyola  was  the  founder."     Gilbert  Gilford 


178  These  Splendid  Women 

was  a  traitor,  and  any  man  must  be  eager  to  avoid  the 
disgrace  of  any  connection,  though  never  so  remote 
or  obHque,  with  a  traitor's  infamy.  But  I  hope  it  may  not 
be  held  incompatible  with  all  respect  for  the  conscien- 
tious labours  of  Father  IMorris,  and  with  all  gratitude  for 
help  and  obligation  conferred  by  them,  to  remark  with 
due  deference  that  a  champion  of  Jesuits  against  the 
malignant  errors  of  calumnious  misrepresentation  would 
be  wise  to  avoid  all  occasion  given  to  heretical  pravity 
for  a  scoff  on  the  old  scores  of  pious  fraud  or  suggestion 
of  falsehood.  Exactly  two  hundred  and  five  pages  after 
this  pathetic  protest  of  conscious  virtue  and  candid  in- 
dignation against  the  inexcusable  injustice  of  an  anti- 
Catholic  historian,  this  denouncer  of  Mr.  Froude's  un- 
fair dealing  and  unfounded  statements,  "the  parallel  of 
which  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  any  one  claiming  to 
occupy  the  judicial  position  of  a  historian,"  affords  the 
following  example  of  his  own  practical  respect  for  his- 
torical justice  and  accuracy  of  statement. 

"Not  only,"  he  says,  with  righteous  disgust  at  such 
brutality,  "not  only  would  Poulet  deprive  Mary  of  Mel- 
ville and  du  Preau,  but,  writing  too  from  his  own  sick 
bed,  he  betrays  his  wish  to  remove  the  medical  attendants 
also,  though  his  prisoner  was  in  chronic  ill  health." 

The  whole  and  sole  ground  for  such  an  imputation  is 
given,  with  inconsistent  if  not  unwary  frankness,  on  the 
very  next  page  but  one,  in  the  text  of  Paulet's  letter  to 
Davison. 

"The  physician,  apothecary,  and  the  surgeon  have  been 
so  often  allowed  to  this  lady  by  her  Majesty's  order,  that 
I  may  not  take  upon  me  to  displace  them  without  special 
warrant,  referring  the  same  to  your  better  consideration." 

It  is  scarcely  by  the  display  of  such  literary  tactics  as 
these  that  a  Jesuit  will  succeed  in  putting  to  shame  the 
credulity  of  unbelievers  who  may  be  so  far  misguided  by 
heretical  reliance  on  a  groundless  tradition  as  to  attribute 
the  practice  of  holy  prevarication,  and  the  doctrine  of  an 


These  Splendid  Women  .179 

end  which  sanctifies  the  most  equivocal  means  of  action 
or  modes  of  argument,  to  the  ingenuous  and  guileless 
children  of  Ignatius.  For  refutation  of  these  inexplicable 
calumnies  and  explosion  of  this  unaccountable  error  we 
must  too  evidently  look  elsewhere. 

An  elder  luminary  of  the  Roman  Church,  the  most 
brilliant  and  impudent  chronicler  of  courtly  brothelry  be- 
tween the  date  of  Petronius  and  the  date  of  Grammont, 
has  left  on  record  that  when  news  came  to  Paris  of  the 
execution  at  Fotheringay  the  general  verdict  passed  by 
most  of  her  old  acquaintances  on  the  Queen  Dowager 
of  France  was  that  her  death  was  a  just  if  lamentable 
retribution  for  the  death  of  Chastelard.  The  despatch 
of  a  disloyal  husband  by  means  of  gunpowder  was  not, 
in  the  eyes  of  these  Catholic  moralists,  an  offence  worth 
mention  if  set  against  the  execution  of  a  loyal  lover, 
"even  in  her  sight  he  loved  so  well."  That  the  luckless 
young  rhymester  and  swordsman  had  been  Mary's 
favoured  lover — ^a  circumstance  which  would  of  course 
have  given  no  scandal  whatever  to  the  society  in  which 
they  had  grown  up  to  years  of  indiscretion — can  be  neither 
affirmed  nor  denied  on  the  authority  of  any  positive  and 
incontrovertible  proof :  and  the  value  of  such  moral  if 
not  legal  evidence  as  we  possess  depends  mainly  on  the 
credit  which  we  may  be  disposed  to  assign  to  the  re- 
ported statement  of  Murray.  Knox,  who  will  not  gen- 
erally be  held  capable  of  deliberate  forgery  and  lying, 
has  left  an  account  of  the  affair  which  can  hardly  be 
regarded  as  a  possible  misrepresentation  or  perversion 
of  fact,  with  some  grain  of  discoloured  and  distorted 
truth  half  latent  in  a  heap  of  lies.  Either  the  falsehood 
is  absolute,  or  the  conclusion  is  obvious. 

The  first  sentences  of  his  brief  narrative  may  be  set 
down  as  giving  merely  an  austere  and  hostile  summary 
of  common  rumours.  That  Chastelard  "at  that  tyme 
passed  all  otheris  in  credytt  with  the  Queue";  that  "in 
dansing  of  the  Purpose,  (so  terme  thei  that  danse,  in  the 


180  These  Splendid  Women 

which  man  and  woman  talkis  secreatlie — wyese  men  wold 
judge  such  fassionis  more  lyke  to  the  bordell  than  to 
the  comelynes  of  honest  wemen,)  in  this  danse  the  Ouene 
chosed  Chattelett,  and  Chattelett  took  the  Quene" ;  that 
"Chattelett  had  the  best  dress";  that  "all  this  winter" 
(1563)  "Chattelett  was  so  familiare  in  the  Quenis  cabi- 
nett,  ayre  and  laitt,  that  scar  sly  e  could  any  of  the  Nobilitie 
have  access  unto  hir";  that  "the  Quene  wold  ly  upoun 
Chattelettis  shoulder,  and  sometymes  prively  she  wold 
steall  a  kyss  of  his  neck";  these  are  records  which  we 
may  or  may  not  pass  by  as  mere  court  gossip  retailed 
by  the  preacher,  and  to  be  taken  with  or  without  dis- 
count as  the  capable  and  equanimous  reader  shall  think 
fit.  We  may  presume  however  that  the  prophet-humour- 
ist did  not  append  the  following  comment  without  sar- 
donic intention.  "And  all  this  was  honest  yneuch;  for  it 
was  the  gentill  entreatment  of  a  stranger."  The  kernel 
of  the  matter  lies  in  the  few  sentences  following. 

"But  the  familiaritie  was  so  great,  that  upoun  a  nycht, 
he  privelie  did  convey  him  self  under  the  Quenis  bed; 
but  being  espyed,  he  was  commanded  away.  But  the 
bruyte  arysing,  the  Quene  called  the  Erie  of  Murray,  and 
bursting  forth  in  a  womanlie  affectioun,  charged  him, 
'That  as  he  loved  hir,  he  should  slay  Chattelett,  and  let 
him  never  speak  word.'  The  other,  at  the  first,  maid 
promesse  so  to  do;  but  after  calling  to  mynd  the  judge- 
mentis  of  God  pronunced  against  the  scheddaris  of  inno- 
cent bloode,  and  also  that  none  should  dye,  without  the 
testimonye  of  two  or  thre  witnesses,  returned  and  fell 
upoun  his  kneis  befoir  the  Quene,  and  said,  'Madam,  I 
beseak  your  Grace,  cause  me  not  tack  the  bloode  of  this 
man  upoun  me.  Your  Grace  has  entreated  him  so 
f amiliarlie  befoir,  that  ye  have  offended  all  your  Nobilitie ; 
and  now  yf  he  shalbe  secreatlie  slane  at  your  awin  com- 
mandiment,  what  shall  the  world  judge  of  it?  I  shall 
bring  him  to  the  presence  of  Justice,  and  let  him  suffer 
be  law  according  to  his  deserving.'    'Oh,'  said  the  Quene, 


These  Splendid  Women  181 

*ye  will  never  let  him  speak  ?'  *I  shall  do,  said  he,  'Madam, 
what  in  me  lyeth  to  saiff  your  honour/"  {The  History 
of  the  Reformation  in  Scotland,  Book  IV.:  The  Works 
of  John  Knox;  collected  and  edited  by  David  Laing. 
Vol,  11. ,  p.  368.)  "Upon  this  hint  I  spake,"  when  in  the 
last  year  of  my  life  as  an  undergraduate  I  began  my 
play  of  Chastelard;  nor  have  I  to  accuse  myself,  then  or 
since,  of  any  voluntary  infraction  of  recorded  fact  or 
any  conscious  violation  of  historical  chronology,  except — 
to  the  best  of  my  recollection — in  two  instances :  the  date 
of  Mary's  second  marriage  and  the  circumstances  of  her 
last  interview  with  John  Knox.  I  held  it  as  allowable 
to  anticipate  by  two  years  the  event  of  Darnley's  nuptials, 
or  in  other  words  to  postpone  for  two  years  the  event 
of  Chastelard's  execution,  as  to  compile  or  condense 
into  one  dramatic  scene  the  details  of  more  than  one 
conversation  recorded  by  Knox  between  Mary  and  him- 
self. 

To  accept  the  natural  and  unavoidable  inference  from 
the  foregoing  narrative,  assuming  of  course  that  it  is 
not  to  be  dismissed  on  all  counts  as  pure  and  simple 
falsehood,  may  seem  equivalent  to  an  admission  that  the 
worst  view  ever  yet  taken  of  Queen  Mary's  character 
is  at  least  no  worse  than  was  undeniably  deserved.  And 
yet,  without  any  straining  of  moral  law  or  any  indulgence 
in  paradoxical  casuistry,  there  is  something  if  not  much 
to  be  offered  in  her  excuse.  To  spare  the  life  of  a  suicidal 
young  monomaniac  who  would  not  accept  his  dismissal 
with  due  submission  to  the  inevitable  and  suppression  of 
natural  regret,  would  probably  in  her  own  eyes  have  been 
no  less  than  ruin  to  her  character  under  the  changed  cir- 
cumstances and  in  the  transformed  atmosphere  of  her 
life.  As,  in  extenuation  of  his  perverse  and  insuppressible 
persistency  in  thrusting  himself  upon  the  compassion  or 
endurance  of  a  woman  who  possibly  was  weary  of  his 
homage,  it  may  doubtless  be  alleged  that  Mary  Stuart 
was  hardly  such  a  mistress  as  a  man  could  be  expected 


182  These  Splendid  Women 

readily  to  resign,  or  perhaps,  at  Chastelard's  age,  to 
forego  with  much  less  reluctance  than  life  itself ;  so  like- 
wise may  it  be  pleaded  on  the  other  hand  that  the  Queen 
of  Scotland  could  not  without  at  least  equal  unreason 
be  expected  to  sacrifice  her  reputation  and  imperil  her 
security  for  the  sake  of  a  cast-off  lover  who  could  not 
see  that  it  was  his  duty  as  a  gentleman  of  good  sense  to 
submit  himself  and  his  passion  to  her  pleasure  and  the 
force  of  circumstances.  The  act  of  Chastelard  was  the 
act  of  a  rebel  as  surely  as  the  conduct  of  Darnley  three 
years  later  was  the  conduct  of  a  traitor;  and  by  all  the 
laws  then  as  yet  unrepealed,  by  all  precedents  and  rights 
of  royalty,  the  life  of  the  rebellious  lover  was  scarce  less 
unquestionably  forfeit  than  the  life  of  the  traitorous  con- 
sort. Nobody  in  those  days  had  discovered  the  inestim- 
able secret  of  being  royalists  or  Christians  by  halves.  At 
least,  it  was  an  unpromising  time  for  any  one  who 
might  attempt  to  anticipate  this  popular  modern  dis- 
covery. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Queen  Mary  was  generally 
and  singularly  unlucky  in  her  practical  assertion  of  pre- 
rogative. To  every  one  of  her  royal  descendants,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  King  Charles  II.,  she  transmitted 
this  single  incapacity  by  way  of  counterpoise  to  all  the 
splendid  and  seductive  gifts  which  she  likewise  bequeathed 
to  not  a  few  of  their  luckless  line.  They  were  a  race 
of  brilliant  blunderers,  with  obtuse  exceptions  inter- 
spersed. To  do  the  right  thing  at  the  wrong  time,  to  fas- 
cinate many  and  satisfy  none,  to  display  every  kind  of 
faculty  but  the  one  which  might  happen  to  be  wanted, 
was  as  fatally  the  sign  of  a  Stuart  as  ever  ferocity  was 
of  a  Claudius  or  perjury  of  a  Bonaparte.  After  the 
time  of  Queen  Mary  there  were  no  more  such  men  born 
into  the  race  as  her  father  and  half-brother.  The  habits 
of  her  son  were  as  suggestive  of  debased  Itahan  blood 
in  the  worst  age  of  Italian  debasement  as  the  profitless 
and  incurable  cunning  with  which  her  grandson  tricked 


These  Splendid  Women  183 

his  own  head  off  his  shoulders,  the  swarthy  levity  and 
epicurean  cynicism  of  his  elder  son,  or  the  bloody  piety 
and  sullen  profligacy  of  his  younger.  The  one  apparently 
valid  argument  against  the  likeHhood  of  their  descent  from 
Rizzio  is  that  Darnley  would  undoubtedly  seem  to  have 
pledged  what  he  called  his  honour  to  the  fact  of  his  wife's 
infidelity.  Towards  that  unhappy  traitor  her  own  conduct 
was  not  more  merciless  than  just,  or  more  treacherous 
than  necessary,  if  justice  was  at  all  to  be  done  upon  him. 
In  the  house  of  Medici  or  in  the  house  of  Lorraine  she 
could  have  found  and  cited  at  need  in  vindication  of  her 
strategy  many  far  less  excusable  examples  of  guile  as 
relentless  and  retaliation  as  implacable  as  that  which  lured 
or  hunted  a  beardless  Judas  to  his  doom,.  If  the  manner 
in  which  justice  was  done  upon  him  will  hardly  be  jus- 
tified by  the  most  perverse  and  audacious  lover  of  his- 
torical or  moral  paradox,  yet  neither  can  the  most  rigid 
upholder  of  moral  law  in  whom  rigour  has  not  got  the 
upper  hand  of  reason  deny  that  never  was  a  lawless  act^ 
committed  with  more  excuse  or  more  pretext  for  regard- 
ing it  as  lawful.  To  rid  herself  of  a  traitor  and  murderer 
who  could  not  be  got  rid  of  by  formal  process  of  law 
was  the  object  and  problem  which  the  action  of  Darnley 
had  inevitably  set  before  his  royal  consort.  That  the 
object  was  attained  and  the  problem  solved  with  such  in- 
conceivable awkwardness  and  perfection  of  mismanage- 
ment is  proof  that  no  infusion  of  Guisian  blood  or  train- 
ing of  Medicean  education  could  turn  the  daughter  of 
an  old  heroic  northern  line  into  a  consummate  and  cold 
intriguer  of  the  southern  Catholic  pattern.  The  contempt 
of  Catherine  for  her  daughter-in-law  when  news  reached 
Paris  of  the  crowning  blunder  at  Kirk  of  Field  must  have 
been  hardly  expressible  by  human  utterance.  At  her  best 
and  worst  alike,  it  seems  to  my  poor  apprehension  that 
Mary  showed  herself  a  diplomatist  only  by  education  and 
force  of  native  ability  brought  to  bear  on  a  line  of  life 
and  conduct  most  alien  from  her  inborn  impulse  as  a 


184  These  Splendid  Women 

frank,  passionate,  generous,  unscrupulous,  courageous  and 
loyal  woman,  naturally  self-willed  and  trained  to  be  self- 
seeking,  born  and  bred  an  imperial  and  royal  creature,  at 
once  in  the  good  and  bad  or  natural  and  artificial  sense 
of  the  words.  In  such  a  view  I  can  detect  no  necessary 
incoherence ;  in  such  a  character  I  can  perceive  no  radical 
inconsistency.  But  *'to  assert,"  as  Mr.  Hosak  says  (ch. 
27  )y  "that  any  human  being,"  neither  a  born  idiot  nor  a 
spiritless  dastard,  **could  have  been  guilty"  of  such  ut- 
terly abject  and  despicable  conduct  as  the  calumnious  ad- 
vocates of  her  innocence  find  themselves  compelled  to 
impute  to  her,  "is,"  as  I  have  always  thought  and  must 
always  continue  to  think,  "an  absurdity  which  refutes 
itself."  The  theory  that  an  "unscupulous  oligarchy  at 
length  accomplished  her  ruin  by  forcing  her" — of  all 
things  in  the  world — "to  marry  Bothwell,"  is  simply  and 
amply  sufficient,  if  accepted,  to  deprive  her  of  all  claim  on 
any  higher  interest  or  any  nobler  sympathy  than  may 
be  excited  by  the  suffering  of  a  beaten  hound.  Indeed, 
the  most  impossible  monster  of  incongruous  merits  and 
demerits  which  can  be  found  in  the  most  chaotic  and  in- 
consequent work  of  Euripides  or  Fletcher  is  a  credible 
and  coherent  production  of  consistent  nature  if  compared 
with  Mr.  Hosack's  heroine.  Outside  the  range  of  the 
clerical  and  legal  professions  it  should  be  difficult  to  find 
men  of  keen  research  and  conscientious  ability  who  can 
think  that  a  woman  of  such  working  brain  and  burning 
heart  as  never  faltered,  never  quailed,  never  rested  till 
the  end  had  come  for  them  of  all  things,  could  be  glorified 
by  degradation  to  the  likeness  of  a  brainless,  heartless, 
sexless  and  pusillanimous  fool.  Supposing  she  had  taken 
part  in  the  slaying  of  Darnley,  there  is  every  excuse  for 
her;  supposing  she  had  not,  there  is  none.  Considered 
from  any  possible  point  of  view,  the  tragic  story  of  her 
life  in  Scotland  admits  but  of  one  interpretation  which  is 
not  incompatible  with  the  impression  she  left  on  all  friends 
and  all  foes  alike.    And  this  interpretation  is  simply  that 


These  Splendid  Women  185 

she  hated  Darnley  with  a  passionate  but  justifiable  hatred, 
and  loved  Bothwell  with  a  passionate  but  pardonable  love. 
For  the  rest  of  her  career,  I  cannot  but  think  that  what- 
ever was  evil  and  ignoble  in  it  was  the  work  of  education 
and  circumstance ;  whatever  was  good  and  noble,  the  gift 
of  nature  or  of  God, 


d^aria  Theresa 


By  ANNA  JAMESON 

MARIA  THERESA/  of  Austria,  born  on  the 
13th  of  May,  1717— was  the  daughter  of  Charles 
the  Sixth,  Emperor  of  Germany,  and  Elizabeth 
Christina,  of  Brunswick,  a  lovely  and  amiable  woman, 
who  possessed  and  deserved  her  husband's  entire  confi- 
dence and  affection. 

Maria  Theresa  had  been  destined  from  her  infancy 
to  marry  the  young  Duke  of  Lorraine,  who  was  brought 
up  in  the  court  of  Vienna,  as  her  intended  husband. 
It  is  very,  very  seldom  that  these  political  state-marriages 
terminate  happily,  or  harmonize  with  the  wishes  and 
feelings  of  those  principally  concerned ;  but  in  the  present 
case  "the  course  of  true  love"  was  blended  with  that  of 
policy.  Francis  Stephen  of  Lorraine  was  the  son  of 
Leopold,  Duke  of  Lorraine,  surnamed  the  Good  and 
Benevolent.  His  grandmother,  Leonora  of  Austria,  was 
the  eldest  sister  of  Charles  VL,  and  he  was  consequently 
the  cousin  of  his  intended  bride.  Francis  was  not  pos- 
sessed of  shining  talents,  but  he  had  a  good  understand- 
ing and  an  excellent  heart;  he  was,  besides,  eminently 
handsome,  indisputably  brave,  and  accomplished  in  all 
the  courtly  exercises  that  became  a  prince  and  a  gentle- 
man. In  other  respects  his  education  had  been  strangely 
neglected;  he  could  scarcely  read  or  write.  From  child- 
hood the  two  cousins  had  been  fondly  attached,  and  their 
attachment  was  perhaps  increased,  at  least  on  the  side  of 
Maria  Theresa,  by  those  political  obstacles  which  long 


These  Splendid  Women  187 

deferred  their  union,  and  even  threatened  at  one  time 
a  lasting  separation.  Towards  the  end  of  his  reign  the 
affairs  of  Charles  VI.,  through  his  imbecility  and  mis- 
government,  fell  into  the  most  deplorable,  the  most  in- 
extricable confusion.  Overwhelmed  by  his  enemies, 
unaided  by  his  friends  and  allies,  he  absolutely  enter- 
tained the  idea  of  entering  into  a  treaty  with  Spain,  and 
offering  his  daughter  Maria  Theresa,  in  marriage  to 
Prince  Charles,  the  heir  of  that  monarchy. 

But  Maria  Theresa  was  not  of  a  temper  to  submit 
quietly  to  an  arrangement  of  which  she  was  to  be  made 
the  victim;  she  remonstrated,  she  wept,  she  threw  her- 
self for  support  and  assistance  into  her  mother's  arms. 
The  empress,  who  idolized  her  daughter  and  regarded 
the  Duke  of  Lorraine  as  her  son,  incessantly  pleaded 
against  this  sacrifice  of  her  daughter's  happiness.  The 
English  minister  at  Vienna  gives  the  following  lively  de- 
scription of  the  state  of  affairs  at  this  time,  and  of  the 
feelings  and  deportment  of  the  young  archduchess : — "She 
is,"  says  Mr.  Robinson,  "a  princess  of  the  highest  spirit; 
her  father's  losses  are  her  own.  She  reasons  already; 
she  enters  into  affairs;  she  admires  his  virtues,  but  con- 
demns his  mismanagement ;  and  is  of  a  temper  so  formed 
for  rule  and  ambition,  as  to  look  upon  him  as  Httle  more 
than  her  administrator.  Notwithstanding  this  lofty 
himior,  she  sighs  and  pines  for  her  Duke  of  Lorraine.  If 
she  sleeps,  it  is  only  to  dream  of  him — if  she  wakes,  it 
is  but  to  talk  of  him  to  the  lady  in  waiting;  so  that 
there  is  no  more  probability  of  her  forgetting  the  very 
individual  government  and  the  very  individual  husband 
which  she  thinks  herself  born  to,  than  of  her  forgiving 
the  authors  of  her  losing  either." 

Charles  VI.,  distracted  and  perplexed  by  the  dif^culties 
of  his  situation,  by  the  passionate  grief  of  his  daughter, 
by  the  remonstrances  of  his  wife  and  the  rest  of  his 
family,  and  without  spirit,  or  abilities,  or  confidence  in 
himself  or  others,  became  a  pitiable  object.     During  the 


188  These  Splendid  Women 

day,  and  while  transacting  business  with  his  ministers, 
he  maintained  his  accustomed  dignity  and  formality;  but 
in  the  dead  of  night,  in  the  retirement  of  his  own  cham- 
ber, and  when  alone  with  the  empress,  he  gave  way  to  such 
paroxysms  of  affliction,  that  not  his  health  only,  but  his 
Hfe  was  endangered,  and  his  reason  began  to  give  way. 
A  peace  with  France  had  become  necessary  on  any  terms, 
and  almost  at  any  sacrifice ;  and  a  secret  negotiation  was 
commenced  with  Cardinal  Fleury,  then  at  the  head  of 
the  French  government,  under  (or,  more  properly  speak- 
ing, over)  Louis  the  Fifteenth.  By  one  of  the  principal 
articles  of  this  treaty,  the  Duchy  of  Lorraine  was  to  be 
given  up  to  France,  and  annexed  to  that  kingdom;  and 
the  Duke  of  Lorraine  was  to  receive,  in  lieu  of  his 
hereditary  possessions,  the  whole  of  Tuscany.  The  last 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  of  the  family  of  the  Medici,  the 
feeble  and  degenerate  Cosmo  III.,  was  still  alive,  but  in 
a  state  of  absolute  dotage,  and  the  claims  of  his  heiress, 
Anna  de'  Medici,  were  to  be  set  aside.  Neither  the  in- 
habitants of  Lorraine  nor  the  people  of  Tuscany  were 
consulted  in  this  arbitrary  exchange.  A  few  diplomatic 
notes  between  Charles's  secretary  Bartenstein  and  the 
crafty  old  cardinal,  settled  the  matter.  It  was  in  vain 
that  the  government  of  Tuscany  remonstrated,  and  in 
vain  that  Francis  of  Lorraine  overwhelmed  the  Austrian 
ministers  with  reproaches,  and  resisted,  as  far  he  was 
able,  this  impudent  transfer  of  his  own  people  and  domin- 
ions to  a  foreign  power.  Bartenstein  had  the  insolence 
to  say  to  him,  "Monseigneur,  point  de  cession,  point 
d'archiduchesse." 

Putting  love  out  of  the  question,  Francis  could  not 
determine  to  stake  his  little  inheritance  against  the  bril- 
liant succession  which  awaited  him  with  Maria  Theresa. 
The  alternative,  however,  threw  him  into  such  agony 
and  distress  of  mind,  that  even  his  health  was  seriously 
affected.  But  peace  was  necessary  to  the  interests,  and 
even  the  preservation  of  the  empire.    Lorraine  was  given 


These  Splendid  Women  189 

up,  and  the  reversion  of  the  grand-duchy  of  Tuscany 
settled  upon  Francis.  The  preHminaries  of  this  treaty 
being  signed  in  1735,  the  emperor  was  reheved  from 
impending  ruin,  and  his  daughter  from  all  her  apprehen- 
sions of  the  Prince  of  Spain;  and,  no  further  obstacles 
intervening,  the  nuptials  of  Maria  Theresa  and  Francis 
of  Lorraine  were  celebrated  at  Vienna  in  February,  1736. 
By  the  marriage  contracts  the  Pragmatic  Sanction  was 
again  signed  and  ratified,  and  the  Duke  of  Lorraine 
solemnly  bound  himself  never  to  assert  any  personal 
right  to  the  Austrian  dominions.  The  two  great  families 
of  Hapsburgh  and  Lorraine,  descended  from  a  common 
ancestor,  were  by  this  marriage  re-united  in  the  same 
stock. 

Prince  Eugene,  who  had  commanded  the  imperial 
armies  for  nearly  forty  years,  died  a  few  days  after 
the  marriage  of  Maria  Theresa,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
three.  His  death  was  one  of  the  greatest  misfortunes 
that  could  have  occurred  at  this  period,  both  to  the 
emperor  and  the  nation. 

A  young  princess,  beautiful  and  amiable,  the  heiress  of 
one  of  the  greatest  monarchies  in  Europe,  married  at 
the  age  of  eighteen  to  the  man  whom  she  had  long  and 
deeply  loved,  and  who  returned  her  affection,  and  soon 
the  happy  mother  of  two  fair  infants,  presents  to  the 
imagination  as  pretty  a  picture  of  splendor  and  felicity 
as  ever  was  exhibited  in  romance  or  fairy  tale;  but 
when  we  turn  over  the  pages  of  history,  or  look  into 
real  life,  everywhere  we  behold  the  hand  of  a  just  Provi- 
dence equalizing  the  destiny  of  mortals. 

During  the  four  years  which  elapsed  between  Maria 
Theresa's  marriage  and  her  accession  to  the  throne,  her 
life  was  embittered  by  anxieties  arising  out  of  her  poHti- 
cal  position.  Her  husband  was  appointed  generalissimo 
of  the  imperial  armies  against  the  Turks,  in  a  war  which 
both  himself  and  Maria  Theresa  disapproved.  He  left 
her  in  the  first  year  of  their  marriage,  to  take  command 


190  These  Splendid  Women 

of  the  army,  and  more  than  once  too  rashly  exposed 
his  hfe.  Francis  had  more  bravery  than  miHtary  skill. 
He  was  baffled  and  hampered  in  his  designs  by  the  weak 
jealousy  of  the  emperor  and  the  cabals  of  the  ministers 
and  generals.  All  the  disasters  of  two  unfortunate  cam- 
paigns were  imputed  to  him,  and  he  returned  to  Vienna 
disgusted,  irritated,  sick  at  heart,  and  suffering  from 
illness.  The  court  looked  coldly  on  him;  he  was  un- 
popular with  the  nation  and  with  the  soldiery;  but  his 
wife  received  him  with  open  arms,  and,  with  a  true 
woman's  tenderness,  "loved  him  for  the  dangers  he  had 
passed."  She  nursed  him  into  health,  she  consoled  him, 
she  took  part  in  all  his  wrongs  and  feelings,  and  was 
content  to  share  with  him  the  frowns  of  her  father  and 
the  popular  dislike.  They  were  soon  afterward  sent 
into  a  kind  of  honorable  exile  into  Tuscany,  under  pre- 
tence of  going  to  take  possession  of  their  new  dominions, 
and  in  their  absence  it  was  publicly  reported  that  the 
emperor  intended  to  give  his  second  daughter  to  the 
Elector  of  Bavaria,  to  change  the  order  of  succession  in 
her  favor,  and  disinherit  IMaria  Theresa.  The  arch- 
duchess and  her  husband  were  more  annoyed  than  alarmed 
by  these  reports,  but  their  sojourn  at  Florence  was  a 
period  of  constant  and  cruel  anxiety. 

Maria  Theresa  had  no  sympathies  with  her  Italian  sub- 
jects; she  had  no  poetical  or  patriotic  associations  to 
render  the  "fair  white  walls  of  Florence"  and  its  olive 
and  vine-covered  hills  interesting  or  dear  to  her ;  she  dis- 
liked the  heat  of  the  climate;  she  wished  herself  at 
Vienna,  whence  every  post  brought  some  fresh  instance 
of  her  father's  misgovernment,  some  new  tidings  of  de- 
feat or  disgrace.  She  mourned  over  the  degradation  of  her 
house,  and  saw  her  magnificent  and  far-descended  heritage 
crumbling  away  from  her.  The  imbecile  emperor,  without 
confidence  in  his  generals,  his  ministers,  his  family,  or 
himself,  exclaimed,  in  an  agony,  "Is  then  the  fortune  of 
my    empire  departed  with  Eugene?"   and  he   lamented 


These  Splendid  Women  191 

hourly  the  absence  of  Maria  Theresa,  in  whose  strength 
of  mind  he  had  ever  found  support  when  his  pride  and 
jealousy  allowed  him  to  seek  it.  The  archduchess  and 
her  husband  returned  to  Vienna  in  1739,  and  soon  after- 
ward the  disastrous  war  with  the  Turks  was  terminated 
by  a  precipitate  and  dishonorable  treaty,  by  which  Bel- 
grade was  ceded  to  the  Ottoman  Porte.  The  situation 
of  the  court  of  Vienna  at  this  period  is  thus  described  by 
the  English  minister,  Robinson: — "Everything  in  this 
court  is  running  into  the  last  confusion  and  ruin,  where 
there  are  as  visible  signs  of  folly  and  madness  as  ever  were 
inflicted  on  a  people  whom  Heaven  is  determined  to 
destroy,  no  less  by  domestic  divisions  than  by  the  more 
public  calamities  of  repeated  defeats,  defencelessness, 
poverty,  plague,  and  famine." 

Such  was  the  deplorable  state  in  which  Charles  be- 
queathed to  his  youthful  heiress  the  dominions  which  had 
fallen  to  him  prosperous,  powerful,  and  victorious,  only 
thirty  years  before.  The  agitation  of  his  mind  fevered 
and  disordered  his  frame,  and  one  night  after  eating 
most  voraciously  of  a  favorite  dish,  he  was  seized  with  an 
indigestion,  of  which  he  expired  October  20th,  1740. 
Maria  Theresa,  who  was  then  near  her  confinement,  was 
not  allowed  to  enter  her  father's  chamber.  We  are  told 
that  the  grief  she  felt  on  hearing  of  his  dissolution  en- 
dangered her  life  for  a  few  hours,  but  that  the  following 
day  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  give  audience  to  the 
ministers. 

Maria  Theresa  was  in  her  twenty-fourth  year  when 
she  became  in  her  own  right  Queen  of  Hungary  and 
Bohemia,  Archduchess  of  Austria,  Sovereign  of  the 
Netherlands,  and  Duchess  of  Milan,  of  Parma,  and  Pla- 
centia;  in  right  of  her  husband  she  was  also  Grand 
Duchess  of  Tuscany.  Naples  and  Sicily  had  indeed  been 
wrested  from  her  father,  but  she  pretended  to  the  right 
of  these  crowns,  and  long  entertained  the  hope  and 
design  of  recovering  them.     She  reigned  over  some  of 


192  These  Splendid  Women 

the  finest  and  fairest  provinces  of  Europe;  over  many 
nations  speaking  many  different  languages,  governed  by 
diiferent  laws,  divided  by  mutual  antipathies,  and  held 
together  by  no  common  link  except  that  of  acknow- 
ledging the  same  sovereign.  That  sovereign  was  now  a 
young  inexperienced  woman,  who  had  solemnly  sworn 
to  preserve  inviolate  and  indivisible  the  vast  and  heter- 
ogeneous empire  transmitted  to  her  feeble  hand,  as  if  it 
had  depended  on  her  will  to  do  so.  Within  the  first  few 
months  of  her  reign  the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  so  fre- 
quently guaranteed  was  trampled  under  foot.  France  de- 
ferred, and  at  length  declined  to  acknowledge  her  title. 
The  Elector  of  Bavaria,  supported  by  France,  laid  claim 
to  Austria,  Hungary,  and  Bohemia.  The  King  of  Spain 
also  laid  claim  to  the  Austrian  succession,  and  prepared 
to  seize  on  the  Italian  states ;  the  king  of  Sardinia  claimed 
Milan;  the  King  of  Prussia,  not  satisfied  with  merely 
advancing  pretensions,  pounced  like  a  falcon  on  his  prey 
and  seized  the  whole  duchy  of  Silesia,  which  he  laid  waste 
and  occupied  with  his  armies. 

Like  the  hind  of  the  forest  when  the  hunters  are 
abroad,  who  hears  on  every  side  the  fierce  baying  of 
the  hounds,  and  stands  and  gazes  round  with  dilated  eye 
and  head  erect,  not  knowing  on  which  side  the  fury  of 
the  chase  is  to  burst  upon  her — so  stood  the  lovely  maj- 
esty of  Austria,  defenceless,  and  trembling  for  her  very 
existence,  but  not  weak,  nor  irresolute,  nor  despairing. 

Maria  Theresa  was  by  no  means  an  extraordinary 
woman.  In  talents  and  strength  of  character  she  was 
inferior  to  Catherine  of  Russia  and  Elizabeth  of  England, 
but  in  moral  qualities  far  superior  to  either;  and  it  may 
be  questioned  whether  the  brilliant  genius  of  the  former, 
or  the  worldly  wisdom  and  sagacity  of  the  latter,  could 
have  done  more  to  sustain  a  sinking  throne,  than  the 
popular  and  feminine  virtues,  the  magnanimous  spirit, 
and  unbending  fortitude  of  Maria  Theresa.  She  had 
something  of  the  inflexible  pride  and  hereditary  obstinacy 


These  Splendid  Women  193 

o£  her  family ;  her  understanding,  naturally  good,  had  been 
early  tinged  with  bigotry  and  narrowed  by  illiberal  pre- 
judices ;  but  in  her  early  youth  these  qualities  only  showed 
on  the  fairer  side,  and  served  but  to  impart  something 
fixed  and  serious  to  the  vivacity  of  her  disposition  and  the 
yielding  tenderness  of  her  heart.  She  had  all  the  self- 
will  and  all  the  sensibihty  of  her  sex;  she  was  full  of 
kindly  impulses  and  good  intentions ;  she  was  not  naturally 
ambitious,  though  circumstances  afterward  developed  that 
passion  in  a  strong  degree ;  she  could  be  roused  to  temper, 
but  this  was  seldom,  and  never  so  far  as  to  forget  the 
dignity  and  propriety  of  her  sex.  It  should  be  mentioned, 
(for  in  the  situation  in  which  she  was  placed  it  was  by 
no  means  an  unimportant  advantage,)  that  at  this  period 
of  her  life  few  women  could  have  excelled  Maria  Theresa 
in  personal  attractions.  Her  figure  was  tall,  and  formed 
with  perfect  elegance;  her  deportment  at  once  graceful 
and  majestic;  her  features  were  regular;  her  eyes  were 
grey  and  full  of  lustre  and  expression;  she  had  the  full 
Austrian  lips,  but  her  mouth  and  smile  were  beautiful; 
her  complexion  was  transparent;  she  had  a  profusion  of 
fine  hair;  and,  to  complete  her  charms,  the  tone  of  her 
voice  was  peculiarly  soft  and  sweet.  Her  strict  religious 
principles,  or  her  early  and  excessive  love  for  her  husband, 
or  the  pride  of  her  royal  station,  or  perhaps  all  these  com- 
bined, had  preserved  her  character  from  coquetry.  She 
was  not  unconscious  of  her  powers  of  captivation,  but 
she  used  them,  not  as  a  woman,  but  as  a  queen — not  to 
win  lovers,  but  to  gain  over  refractory  subjects.  The 
"fascinating  manner"  which  the  historian  records,  and  for 
which  she  was  so  much  admired,  became  later  in  life 
rather  too  courtly  and  too  artificial;  but  at  four-and- 
twenty  it  was  the  result  of  kind  feeling,  natural  grace, 
and  youthful  gayety. 

The  perils  which  surrounded  Maria  Theresa  at  her  ac- 
cession were  such  as  would  have  appalled  the  strongest 
mind.     She  was  not  only  encompassed  by  enemies  with- 


194  These  Splendid  Women 

out,  but  threatened  with  commotions  within.  She  was 
without  an  army,  without  a  treasury,  and,  in  point  of  fact, 
without  a  ministry — for  never  was  such  a  set  of  imbecile 
men  collected  together  to  direct  the  government  of  a 
kingdom,  as  those  who  composed  the  conference  or  state- 
council  of  Vienna,  during  this  period.  They  agreed  but 
in  one  thing — in  jealousy  of  the  duke  of  Lorraine,  whom 
they  considered  as  a  foreigner,  and  who  was  content 
perforce  to  remain  a  mere  cipher. 

Maria  Theresa  began  her  reign  by  committing  a 
mistake,  very  excusable  at  her  age.  Her  father's  confi- 
dential minister,  Bartenstein,  continued  to  direct  the 
Government,  though  he  had  neither  talents  nor  resources 
to  meet  the  fearful  exigencies  in  which  they  were  placed. 
The  young  queen  had  sufficient  sense  to  penetrate  the 
characters  of  Sinzendorf  and  Staremberg;  she  had  been 
disgusted  by  their  attempts  to  take  advantage  of  her  sex 
and  age,  and  to  assume  the  whole  power  to  themselves. 
She  wished  for  instruction,  but  she  was  of  a  temper  to 
resist  any  thing  like  dictation.  Bartenstein  discovered 
her  foible;  and  by  his  affected  submission  to  her  judg- 
ment, and  admiration  of  her  abilities,  he  conciliated  her 
good  opinion.  His  knowledge  of  the  forms  of  business, 
which  extricated  her  out  of  many  little  embarrassments, 
she  mistook  for  political  sagacity — his  presumption  for 
genius;  his  volubility,  his  readiness  with  his  pen,  all  con- 
spired to  dazzle  the  understanding  and  win  the  confidence 
of  an  inexperienced  woman.  It  is  generally  allowed  that 
he  was  a  weak  and  superficial  man ;  but  he  possessed  two 
good  qualities — he  was  sincerely  attached  to  the  interests 
of  the  house  of  Austria,  and,  as  a  minister,  incorruptible. 

In  her  husband  Maria  Theresa  found  ever  a  faithful 
friend,  and  comfort  and  sympathy,  when  she  most  needed 
them;  but  hardly  advice,  support,  or  aid.  Francis  was 
the  soul  of  honor  and  affection,  but  he  was  illiterate,  fond 
of  pleasure,  and  unused  to  business.  Much  as  his  wife 
bved  him,  she  either  loved  power  more,  or  was  conscious 


These  Splendid  Women  195 

of  his  inability  to  yield  it.  Had  he  been  an  artful  or 
ambitious  man,  Francis  might  easily  have  obtained  over 
the  mind  of  Maria  Theresa  that  unbounded  influence 
which  a  man  of  sense  can  always  exercise  over  an 
affectionate  woman;  but,  humbled  by  her  superiority  of 
rank,  and  awed  by  her  superiority  of  mind,  he  never  made 
the  slightest  attempt  to  guide  or  control  her,  and  was 
satisfied  to  hold  all  he  possessed  from  her  love  or  from 
her  power. 

The  first  war  in  which  Maria  Theresa  was  engaged 
was  begun  in  self-defence — never  was  the  sword  drawn 
in  a  fairer  quarrel  or  a  juster  cause.  Her  great  adver- 
sary was  Frederick  H.  of  Prussia,  aided  by  France  and 
Bavaria.  On  the  side  of  the  young  queen  were  England 
and  Holland.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  enthusiasm  which 
her  helpless  situation  had  excited  among  the  English  of 
all  ranks :  The  queen  of  Hungary  was  a  favorite  toast 
— her  head  a  favorite  sign.  The  parliament  voted  large 
subsidies  to  support  her,  and  the  ladies  of  England,  with 
the  old  Duchess  of  Marlborough  at  their  head,  subscribed 
a  sum  of  £100,000,  which  they  offered  to  her  acceptance. 
Maria  Theresa,  who  had  been  so  munificently  aided  by 
the  king  and  parliament,  either  did  not  think  it  con- 
sistent with  her  dignity  to  accept  of  private  gifts,  or  from 
some  other  reason,  declined  the  proffered  contribution. 

The  war  of  the  Austrian  succession  lasted  nearly  eight 
years.  The  battles  and  the  sieges,  the  victories  and  de- 
feats, the  treaties  made  and  broken,  the  strange  events 
and  vicissitudes  which  marked  its  course,  may  be  found 
duly  chronicled  and  minutely  detailed  in  histories  of 
France,  England,  or  Germany.  It  is  more  to  our  present 
purpose  to  trace  the  influence  which  the  character  of 
Maria  Theresa  exercised  over  passing  events,  and  their 
reaction  on  the  fate,  feelings,  and  character  of  the  woman. 

Her  situation  at  the  commencement  of  the  war  ap- 
peared desperate.  Frederick  occupied  Silesia,  and  in  the 
first  great  battle  in  which  the  Austrians  and  Prussians 


.196  These  Splendid  Women 

were  engaged,  (the  battle  of  Molwitz),  the  former  were 
entirely  defeated.  Still  the  queen  refused  to  yield  up 
Silesia,  at  which  price  she  might  have  purchased  the 
friendship  of  her  dangerous  enemy.  Indignant  at  his 
unprovoked  and  treacherous  aggression,  she  disdainfully 
refused  to  negotiate  while  he  had  a  regiment  in  Silesia, 
and  rejected  all  attempts  to  mediate  between  them.  The 
birth  of  her  first  son,  the  archduke  Joseph,  in  the  midst 
of  these  distresses,  confirmed  her  resolution.  Maternal 
tenderness  now  united  with  her  family  pride  and  her 
royal  spirit;  and  to  alienate  voluntarily  any  part  of  his 
inheritance  appeared  not  only  humiliation,  but  a  crime. 
She  addressed  Herself  to  all  the  powers  which  had  guaran- 
tied the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  and  were  therefore  bound  to 
support  her.  And  first  to  France:  To  use  her  own 
words — "I  wrote,"  said  she,  "to  Cardinal  Fleury;  pressed 
by  hard  necessity,  I  descended  from  my  royal  dignity, 
and  wrote  to  him  in  terms  which  would  have  softened 
stone!"  But  the  old  cardinal  was  absolute  flint.  From 
age  and  long  habit,  he  had  become  a  kind  of  political 
machine,  actuated  by  no  other  principle  than  the  interests 
of  his  government;  he  deceived  the  queen  with  delusive 
promises  and  diplomatic  delays  till  all  was  ready;  then 
the  French  armies  poured  across  the  Rhine,  and  joined 
the  Elector  of  Bavaria.  They  advanced  in  concert  within 
a  few  leagues  of  Vienna.  The  elector  was  declared  Duke 
of  Austria;  and,  having  overrun  Bohemia,  he  invested 
the  city  of  Prague. 

Who  has  not  read  of  the  scene  which  ensued,  which 
has  so  often  been  related,  so  often  described?  and  yet 
we  all  feel  that  we  cannot  hear  of  it  too  often.  When 
we  first  meet  it  on  the  page  of  history,  we  are  taken 
by  surprise,  as  though  it  had  no  business  there;  it  has 
the  glory  and  the  freshness  of  old  romance.  Poetry  never 
invented  anything  half  so  striking,  or  that  so  completely 
fills  the  imagination. 

The  Hungarians  had  been  oppressed,  enslaved,  insulted, 


These  Splendid  Women  197 

by  Maria  Theresa's  predecessors.  In  the  beginning  of  her 
reign,  she  had  abandoned  the  usurpations  of  her  ances- 
tors, and  had  voluntarily  taken  the  oath  to  preserve  all 
their  privileges  entire.  This  was  partly  from  policy,  but 
it  was  also  partly  from  her  own  just  and  kind  nature. 
The  hearts  of  the  Hungarians  were  already  half  won 
when  she  arrived  at  Presburg,  in  June,  1741.  She  was 
crowned  Queen  of  Hungary  on  the  13th,  with  the  peculiar 
national  ceremonies.  The  iron  crown  of  St.  Stephen 
was  placed  on  her  head,  the  tattered  but  sacred  robe 
thrown  over  her  own  rich  habit,  which  was  incrusted  with 
gems,  his  scimitar  girded  to  her  side.  Thus  attired,  and 
mounted  upon  a  superb  charger,  she  rode  up  the  Royal 
Mount,  and  according  to  the  antique  custom,  drew  her 
sabre,  and  defied  the  four  quarters  of  the  world,  "in  a 
manner  that  showed  she  had  no  occasion  for  that  weapon 
to  conquer  all  who  saw  her."  The  crown  of  St.  Stephen, 
which  had  never  before  been  placed  on  so  small  or  so 
lovely  a  head,  had  been  lined  with  cushions  to  make  it 
fit.  It  was  also  very  heavy,  and  its  weight,  added  to  the 
heat  of  the  weather,  incommoded  her ;  when  she  sat  down 
to  dinner  in  the  great  hall  of  the  castle,  she  expressed  a 
wish  to  lay  it  aside.  On  lifting  the  diadem  from  her 
brow,  her  hair,  loosened  from  confinement,  fell  down 
in  luxuriant  ringlets  over  her  neck  and  shoulders ;  the 
glow  which  the  heat  and  emotion  had  diffused  over  her 
complexion  added  to  her  natural  beauty,  and  the  as- 
sembled nobles,  struck  with  admiration,  could  scarce  for- 
bear from  shouting  their  applause. 

The  effect  which  her  youthful  grace  and  loveliness  pro- 
duced on  this  occasion  had  not  yet  subsided  when  she 
called  together  the  Diet,  or  Senate  of  Hungary,  in  order 
to  lay  before  them  the  situation  of  her  affairs.  She  en- 
tered the  hall  of  the  castle,  habited  in  the  Hungarian 
costume,  but  still  in  deep  mourning  for  her  father;  she 
traversed  the  apartment  with  a  slow  and  majestic  step, 
and   ascended   the  throne,   where   she   stood   for   a   few 


198  These  Splendid  Women 

minutes  silent.  The  chancellor  of  state  first  explained 
the  situation  to  which  she  was  reduced,  and  then  the 
queen,  coming  forward,  addressed  the  assembly  in  Latin, 
a  language  which  she  spoke  fluently,  and  which  is  still  in 
common  use  among  the  Hungarians. 

"The  disastrous  state  of  our  affairs,"  said  she,  "has 
moved  us  to  lay  before  our  dear  and  faithful  states  of 
Hungary  the  recent  invasion  of  Austria,  the  danger  now 
impending  over  this  kingdom,  and  propose  to  them  the 
consideration  of  a  remedy.  The  very  existence  of  the 
kingdom  of  Hungary,  of  our  own  person,  of  our  children, 
of  our  crown,  are  now  at  stake,  and,  forsaken  by  all,  we 
place  our  sole  hope  in  the  fidelity,  arms,  and  long-tried 
valor  of  the  Hungarians !" 

She  pronounced  these  simple  words  in  a  firm  but  mel- 
ancholy tone.  Her  beauty,  her  magnanimity,  and  her 
distress,  roused  the  Hungarian  chiefs  to  the  wildest  en- 
thusiasm; they  drew  their  sabres  half  out  of  the  scab- 
bard, then  flung  them  back  to  the  hilt  with  a  martial 
sound,  which  re-echoed  through  the  lofty  hall,  and  ex- 
claimed with  one  accord,  "Our  swords  and  our  blood 
for  your  majesty — we  will  die  for  our  king,  Maria 
Theresa!"  Overcome  by  sudden  emotion,  she  burst  into 
a  flood  of  tears.  At  this  sight,  the  nobles  became  almost 
frantic  with  enthusiasm.  "We  wept  too,"  said  a  noble- 
man, who  assisted  on  this  occasion,  (Count  Roller)  ;  "but 
they  were  tears  of  admiration,  pity,  and  fury."  They 
retired  from  her  presence,  to  vote  supplies  of  men  and 
money,  which  far  exceeded  all  her  expectations. 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  extraordinary  scene,  the 
deputies  again  assembled,  to  receive  the  oath  of  Francis 
of  Lorraine,  who  had  been  appointed  co-regent  of  Hun- 
gary. Francis,  having  taken  the  required  oath,  waved 
his  arm  over  his  head  and  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm, 
"My  blood  and  life  for  the  queen  and  kingdom !"  It  was 
on  this  occasion  that  Maria  Theresa  took  up  her  infant 
son  in  her  arms  and  presented  him  to  the  deputies,  and 


These  Splendid  Wo?nen  199 

again  they  burst  into  the  acclamation,  "We  will  die  for 
Maria  Theresa  and  her  children !" 

It  had  been  the  favorite  object  of  Maria  Theresa  to 
place  the  imperial  crown  on  the  head  of  her  husband. 
The  election  of  Charles  was,  therefore,  a  deep  morti- 
fication to  her,  and  deeply  she  avenged  it.  Her  armies, 
under  the  command  of  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  and  Gen- 
eral Kevenhuller,  entered  Bavaria,  wasted  the  hereditary 
dominions  of  the  new  emperor  with  fire  and  sword,  and 
on  the  very  day  on  which  he  was  proclaimed  at  Frankfort, 
his  capital,  Munich,  surrendered  to  the  Austrians,  and  the 
Duke  of  Lorraine  entered  the  city  in  triumph.  Such  were 
the  strange  vicissitudes  of  war! 

Within  a  few  months  afterward  the  French  were  every- 
where beaten ;  they  were  obliged  to  evacuate  Prague,  and 
accomplished  with  great  difficulty  their  retreat  to  Egra. 
So  much  was  the  queen's  mind  embittered  against  them, 
that  their  escape  at  this  time  absolutely  threw  her  into 
an  agony.  She  had,  however,  sufficient  self-command 
to  conceal  her  indignation  and  disappointment  from  the 
public,  and  celebrated  the  surrender  of  Prague  by  a  mag- 
nificent fete  at  Vienna.  Among  other  entertainments 
there  was  a  chariot-race,  in  imitation  of  the  Greeks — in 
which,  to  exhibit  the  triumph  of  her  sex,  ladies  alone 
were  permitted  to  contend,  and  the  queen  herself  and  her 
sister  entered  the  lists.  It  must  have  been  a  beautiful 
and  gallant  sight.  Soon  afterward  Maria  Theresa  pro- 
ceeded to  Prague,  where  she  was  crowned  Queen  of 
Bohemia,  May  12,  1743. 

In  Italy  she  was  also  victorious.  Her  principal  op- 
ponent in  that  quarter  was  the  high-spirited  Elizabeth 
Farnese,  the  Queen  of  Spain.  This  imperious  woman, 
who  thought  she  could  manage  war  as  she  managed  her 
husband,  commanded  her  general,  on  pain  of  instant  dis- 
missal, to  fight  the  Austrians  within  three  days;  he  did 
so,  and  was  defeated. 

The  eflFect  produced  on  the  mind  of  Maria  Theresa,  by 


200  These  Splendid  Women 

these  sudden  vicissitudes  of  fortune  and  extraordinary 
successes,  was  not  altogether  favorable.  She  had  met 
dangers  with  fortitude — she  had  endured  reverses  with 
magnanimity;  but  she  could  not  triumph  with  modera- 
tion. Sentiments  of  hatred,  of  vengeance,  of  ambition, 
had  been  awakened  in  her  heart  by  the  wrongs  of  her 
enemies  and  her  own  successes.  She  indulged  a  personal 
animosity  against  the  Prussians  and  the  French,  which 
almost  shut  her  heart,  good  and  beneficent  as  Heaven  had 
formed  it,  against  humanity  and  the  love  of  peace.  She 
not  only  rejected  with  contempt  all  pacific  overtures,  and 
refused  to  acknowledge  the  new  emperor,  but  she  medi- 
tated vast  schemes  of  conquest  and  retaliation.  She  not 
only  resolved  on  recovering  Silesia,  and  appropriating 
Bavaria,  but  she  formed  plans  for  crushing  her  great 
enemy,  Frederick  of  Prussia,  and  partitioning  his  domin- 
ions, as  he  had  conspired  to  ravage  and  dismember  hers. 
The  enthusiasm  which  her  charms  and  her  address  ex- 
cited in  Hungary  from  the  proudest  palatine  to  the  mean- 
est peasant,  again  saved  her.  In  the  following  year 
Bohemia  and  Bavaria  were  recovered;  and  the  unfortu- 
nate emperor,  Charles  the  Seventh,  was  driven  from  all 
his  possessions,  after  playing  for  a  while  a  miserable 
pageant  of  royalty  in  the  hands  of  the  French,  died 
almost  broken-hearted.  With  his  last  breath  he  exhorted 
his  successor  to  make  peace  with  Austria,  and  reject  the 
imperial  dignity  which  had  been  so  fatal  to  his  family. 
The  new  elector,  Maximilian  Joseph,  obeyed  these  last 
commands,  and  no  other  competitor  appearing,  Maria 
Theresa  was  enabled  to  fulfill  the  ambition  of  her  heart, 
by  placing  the  imperial  diadem  on  her  husband's  head. 
Francis  was  proclaimed  Emperor  of  Germany  at  Frank- 
fort; and  the  queen,  who  witnessed  from  a  balcony  the 
ceremony  of  election,  was  the  first  who  exclaimed  "Vive 
i'emperor !"  From  this  time  Maria  Theresa,  uniting  in 
herself  the  titles  of  Empress  of  Germany  and  Queen  of 
Hungary  and  Bohemia,  is  styled  in  history,  the  empress- 


These  Splendid  Women  201 

queen.  This  accession  of  dignity  was  the  only  compen- 
sation for  a  year  of  disasters  and  losses  in  Italy  and  the 
Netherlands.  Still  she  would  not  submit,  nor  bend  her 
high  spirit  to  an  accommodation  with  Frederick  on  the 
terms  he  offered;  and  still  she  rejected  all  mediation.  At 
length  the  native  generosity  of  her  disposition  prevailed. 
The  Elector  of  Saxony,  who  had  been  for  some  time  her 
most  faithful  and  efficient  ally,  was  about  to  become  a 
sacrifice  through  his  devotion  to  her  cause,  and  only 
peace  could  save  him  and  his  people.  For  his  sake  the 
queen  stooped  to  what  she  never  would  have  sub- 
mitted to  for  any  advantage  to  herself,  and  on  Christmas- 
day,  1745,  she  signed  the  peace  of  Dresden,  by  which  she 
finally  ceded  Silesia  to  Frederick,  who,  on  this  condition, 
withdrew  his  troops  from  Saxony,  and  acknowledged 
Francis  as  Emperor. 

By  this  time  (1747)  all  the  sovereigns  of  Europe  be- 
gan to  be  wearied  and  exhausted  by  this  sanguinary  and 
burthensome  war ;  all,  except  Maria  Theresa,  whose  pride, 
wounded  by  the  forced  cession  of  Silesia  and  the  reduc- 
tion of  her  territories  in  the  Netherlands  and  in  Italy, 
could  not  endure  to  leave  off  a  loser  in  this  terrible  game 
of  life.  It  is  rather  painful  to  see  how  the  turmoils 
and  vicissitudes  of  the  last  few  years,  the  habits  of 
government  and  diplomacy,  had  acted  on  a  disposition 
naturally  so  generous  and  so  just.  In  her  conference 
with  the  English  minister  she  fairly  got  into  a  passion, 
exclaiming,  with  the  utmost  indignation  and  disdain,  "that 
rather  than  agree  to  the  terms  of  peace,  she  would  lose 
her  head" — raising  her  voice  as  she  spoke,  and  suiting 
the  gesture  to  the  words.  With  the  same  warmth  she 
had  formerly  declared,  that  before  she  would  give  up 
Silesia  she  would  sell  her  shift!  In  both  cases  she  was 
obliged  to  yield.  When  the  plenipotentiaries  of  the  vari- 
ous powers  of  Europe  met  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  in  1748, 
her  ministers,  acting  by  her  instructions,  threw  every 
possible  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  pacification ;  and  when 


202  These  Splendid  Women 

at  length  she  was  obHged  to  accede,  by  the  threat  of  her 
alHes  to  sign  without  her,  she  did  so  with  obvious,  with 
acknowledged  reluctance,  and  never  afterward  forgave 
England  for  having  extorted  her  consent  to  this  measure. 

The  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  which  was  one  of  the 
great  events  of  the  last  century,  was  signed  by  the  em- 
press-queen on  the  23d  of  October,  1748.  "Thus,"  says 
the  historian  of  Maria  Theresa,  "terminated  a  bloody 
and  extensive  war,  which  at  the  commencement  threat- 
ened the  very  existence  of  the  house  of  Austria ;  but  the 
magnanimity  of  Maria  Theresa,  the  zeal  of  her  subjects, 
and  the  support  of  Great  Britain  triumphed  over  her 
numerous  enemies,  and  secured  an  honorable  peace." 

Maria  Theresa  had  made  peace  with  reluctance.  She 
was  convinced — that  is,  she  jclt — that  it  could  not  be  of 
long  continuance ;  but  for  the  present  she  submitted.  She 
directed  her  attention  to  the  internal  government  of  her 
dominions,  and  she  resolved  to  place  them  in  such  a  con- 
dition that  she  need  not  fear  war  whenever  it  was  her 
interest  to  renew  it. 

Eight  years  of  almost  profound  peace  elapsed,  and 
Maria  Theresa  was  neither  sensible  of  the  value  of  the 
blessing,  nor  reconciled  to  the  terms  on  which  she  had 
purchased  it.  While  Frederick  existed — Frederick,  who 
had  injured,  braved,  and  humbled  her — she  was  ready  to 
exclaim,  like  Constance,  "War!  war! — no  peace!  Peace 
is  to  me  a  war !"  In  vain  was  she  happy  in  her  family, 
and  literally  adored  by  her  subjects;  she  was  not  happy 
in  herself.  In  her  secret  soul  she  nourished  an  implacable 
resentment  against  the  King  of  Prussia;  in  the  privacy 
of  her  cabinet  she  revolved  the  means  of  his  destruction. 
The  loss  of  Silesia  was  still  nearest  her  heart,  and  she 
never  could  think  of  it  but  with  shame  and  anguish. 
She  could  not  bandy  wit  with  her  enemy — it  was  not  in 
her  nature;  but  hatred  filled  her  heart,  and  projects  of 
vengeance  occupied  all  her  thoughts.  She  looked  round 
her  for  the  means  to   realize  them;  there  was  no  way 


These  Splendid  Women  203 

but  by  an  alliance  with  France — with  France,  the  heredi- 
tary enemy  of  her  family  and  her  country ! — with  France, 
separated  from  Austria  by  three  centuries  of  mutual 
injuries  and  almost  constant  hostility.  The  smaller  states 
of  Europe  had  long  regarded  their  own  safety  as  de- 
pending, in  a  great  measure,  on  the  mutual  enmity  and 
jealousy  of  these  two  great  central  powers;  a  gulf  seemed 
forever  to  divide  them,  but,  instigated  by  the  spirit  of 
vengeance,  Maria  Theresa  determined  to  leap  that  gulf. 

Her  plan  was  considered,  matured,  and  executed  in  the 
profoundest  secrecy;  even  her  husband  was  kept  in  perfect 
ignorance  of  her  designs.  She  was  not  of  a  temper  to 
fear  his  opposition,  but  her  strong  affection  for  him  made 
her  shrink  from  his  disapprobation.  Prince  Kaunitz  was 
her  only  coadjutor ;  he  alone  was  intrusted  with  this  most 
delicate  and  intricate  negotiation,  which  lasted  nearly  two 
years.  It  was  found  necessary  to  conciliate  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  the  mistress  of  Louis  XV.,  who  was  at  that 
time  all-powerful.  Kaunitz,  in  suggesting  the  expediency 
of  this  condescension,  thought  it  necessary  to  make  some 
apology.  The  empress  merely  answered,  "Have  I  not 
flattered  Farinelli?"  and,  taking  up  her  pen,  without 
further  hesitation,  this  descendant  of  a  hundred  kings  and 
emperors — the  pious,  chaste,  and  proud  Maria  Theresa — 
addressed  the  low-born  profligate  favorite  as  "ma  chere 
amie,"  and  "ma  cousine."  The  step  was  sufficiently  de- 
grading, but  it  answered  its  purpose.  The  Pompadour 
was  won  to  the  Austrian  interest;  and  through  her 
influence  this  extraordinary  alliance  was  finally  arranged, 
in  opposition  to  the  policy  of  both  courts,  and  the  real 
interests  and  inveterate  prejudices  of  both  nations. 

When  this  treaty  was  first  divulged  in  the  council  of 
Vienna,  the  Emperor  Francis  was  so  utterly  shocked  and 
confounded,  that,  striking  the  table  with  his  hand,  he  vowed 
he  would  never  consent  to  it,  and  left  the  room.  Maria 
Theresa  was  prepared  for  this  burst  of  indignation;  she 


204  These  Splendid  Women 

affected,  with  that  duplicity  in  which  she  had  lately  become 
an  adept,  to  attribute  the  whole  scheme  to  her  minister, 
and  to  be  as  much  astonished  as  Francis  himself.  But 
she  represented  the  necessity  of  hearing  and  considering 
the  whole  of  this  new  plan  of  policy  before  they  decided 
against  it.  With  a  mixture  of  artifice,  reason  and  tender- 
ness, she  gradually  soothed  the  facile  mind  of  her  husband, 
and  converted  him  to  her  own  opinion,  or  at  least  con- 
vinced him  that  it  was  in  vain  to  oppose  it.  When  the 
report  of  a  coalition  between  Austria  and  France  was 
spread  through  Europe,  it  was  regarded  as  something 
portentous.  In  England  it  was  deemed  incredible,  or,  as 
it  was  termed  in  parliament,  unnatural  and  monstrous. 
The  British  minister  at  Vienna  exclaimed,  with  astonish- 
ment, "Will  you,  the  empress  and  archduchess,  so  far 
humble  yourself  as  to  throw  yourself  into  the  arms  of 
France?"  "Not  into  the  arms,"  she  replied,  with  some 
haste  and  confusion,  "but  on  the  side  of  France.  I  have," 
she  continued,  "hitherto  signed  nothing  with  France, 
though  I  know  not  what  may  happen;  but  whatever  does 
happen,  I  promise,  on  my  word  of  honor,  not  to  sign  any- 
thing contrary  to  the  interests  of  your  royal  master,  for 
whom  I  have  a  most  sincere  friendship  and  regard." 

The  immediate  result  of  the  alliance  with  France  was 
"the  seven  years'  war,"  in  which  Austria,  France,  Russia, 
Sweden,  and  Denmark,  and  afterward  Spain,  were  con- 
federated against  the  King  of  Prussia,  who  was  assisted 
by  Great  Britain  and  Hanover,  and  only  preserved  from 
destruction  by  the  enormous  subsidies  of  England,  and 
by  his  own  consummate  genius  and  intrepidity. 

In  this  war  Maria  Theresa  recovered  and  again  lost 
Silesia;  at  one  time  she  was  nearly  overwhelmed  and  on 
the  point  of  being  driven  from  her  capital;  again  the 
tide  of  war  rolled  back,  and  her  troops  drove  Frederick 
from  Berlin. 

But  all  parties  were  by  this  time  wearied  and  exhausted ; 


These  Splendid  Women  205 

all  wished  for  peace,  and  none  would  stoop  to  ask  it.  At 
length,  one  of  Maria  Theresa's  officers,  who  had  been 
wounded  and  taken  prisoner,  ventured  to  hint  to  Frederick 
that  his  imperial  mistress  was  not  unwilling  to  come  to 
terms.  This  conversation  took  place  at  the  castle  of 
Hubertsberg.  The  king,  snatching  up  half  a  sheet  of 
paper,  wrote  down  in  few  words  the  conditions  on  which 
he  was  willing  to  make  peace.  The  whole  was  contained 
in  about  ten  lines.  He  sent  this  off  to  Vienna  by  a 
courier,  demanding  a  definitive  answer  within  twelve 
days.  The  Austrian  ministers  were  absolutely  out  of 
breath  at  the  idea;  they  wished  to  temporize — to  delay. 
But  Maria  Theresa,  with  the  promptitude  of  her  char- 
acter, decided  at  once;  she  accepted  the  terms,  and  the 
peace  of  Hubertsberg  was  concluded  in  1763.  By  this 
treaty,  all  places  and  prisoners  were  given  up.  Not  a 
foot  of  territory  was  gained  or  lost  by  either  party. 
Silesia  continued  in  possession  of  Prussia;  the  political 
affairs  of  Germany  remained  in  precisely  the  same  state 
as  before  the  war;  but  Saxony  and  Bohemia  had  been 
desolated,  Prussia  almost  depopulated,  and  more  than 
500,000  men  had  fallen  in  battle. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  seven  years'  war,  Maria 
Theresa  was  in  the  forty-eighth  year  of  her  age.  During 
the  twenty-four  years  of  her  public  life,  the  eyes  of  all 
Europe  had  been  fixed  upon  her  in  hope,  in  fear,  in 
admiration.  She  had  contrived  to  avert  from  her  own 
states  the  worst  of  those  evils  she  had  brought  on  others. 
Her  subjects  beheld  her  with  a  love  and  reverence  little 
short  of  idolatry.  In  the  midst  of  her  weaknesses,  she 
had  displayed  many  virtues;  and  if  she  had  committed 
great  errors,  she  had  also  performed  great  and  good 
actions. 

In  the  summer  of  1765,  the  imperial  court  left  Vienna 
for  Inspruck,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  marriage  of 
the  Archduke  Leopold  with  the  Infanta  of  Spain.  The 
emperor  had  previously  complained  of  indisposition,  and 


206  These  Splendid  Women 

seemed  overcome  by  those  melancholy  presentiments 
which  are  often  the  result  of  a  deranged  system,  and 
only  remembered  when  they  happen  to  be  realized.  He 
was  particularly  fond  of  his  youngest  daughter,  Marie 
Antoinette,  and,  after  taking  leave  of  his  children,  he 
ordered  her  to  be  brought  to  him  once  more.  He  took 
her  in  his  arms,  kissed,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  say- 
ing, with  emotion,  "J'^vais  besoin  d'embrasser  encore 
cette  enfant!"  While  at  Inspruck  he  was  much  indis- 
posed, and  Maria  Theresa,  who  watched  him  with  solici- 
tude, appeared  miserable  and  anxious;  she  requested 
that  he  would  be  bled.  He  replied,  with  a  petulance  very 
unusual  to  him,  "Madame,  voulez  vous  que  je  meurs  dans 
la  saignee?"  The  heavy  air  of  the  valleys  seemed  to 
oppress  him  even  to  suffocation,  and  he  was  often  heard 
to  exclaim,  "Ah!  si  je  pouvais  seulement  sortir  de  ces 
montagnes  du  Tyrol!"  On  Sunday,  August  18th,  the 
empress  and  his  sister  again  entreated  him  to  be  bled. 
He  replied,  "I  must  go  to  the  opera,  and  I  am  engaged 
afterward  to  sup  with  Joseph,  and  cannot  disappoint  him ; 
but  I  will  be  bled  to-morrow."  The  same  evening,  on 
leaving  the  theatre,  he  fell  down  in  an  apoplectic  fit, 
and  expired  in  the  arms  of  his  son. 

Maria  Theresa  was  the  mother  of  sixteen  children. 
The  unhappy  Marie  Antoinette,  wife  of  the  dauphin, 
afterward  Louis  XVL,  was  her  youngest  daughter.  She 
was  united  to  the  dauphin  in  1770,  and  thus  was  sealed 
an  alliance  between  Austria  and  France — the  great  object 
of  her  wishes,  which  Maria  Theresa  had  been  engaged 
for  years  in  accomplishing — for,  in  placing  a  daughter 
upon  the  throne  of  France,  she  believed  that  she  was  se- 
curing a  predominant  influence  in  the  French  cabinet,  and 
that  she  was  rendering,  by  this  grand  scheme  of  policy, 
the  ancient  and  hereditary  rival  of  her  empire,  subser- 
vient to  the  future  aggrandizement  of  her  house. 

Maria  Theresa  lived  in  the  interior  of  her  palace  with 
great  simplicity.    In  the  morning  an  old  man,  who  could 


These  Splendid  Women  207 

hardly  be  entitled  a  chamberlain,  but  merely  what  is 
called  on  the  continent  a  frottiur,  entered  her  sleeping- 
room,  about  five  or  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  opened 
the  shutters,  lighted  the  stove,  and  arranged  the  apart- 
ment. She  breakfasted  on  a  cup  of  milk-cofifee ;  then 
dressed  and  heard  mass.  She  then  proceeded  to  business. 
Every  Tuesday  she  received  the  ministers  of  the  different 
departments;  other  days  were  set  apart  for  giving  audi- 
ence to  foreigners  and  strangers,  who,  according  to  the 
etiquette  of  the  imperial  court,  were  always  presented 
singly,  and  received  in  the  private  apartments.  There 
were  stated  days  on  which  the  poorest  and  meanest  of 
her  subjects  were  admitted  almost  indiscriminately;  and 
so  entire  was  her  confidence  in  their  attachment  and  her 
own  popularity,  that  they  might  whisper  to  her,  or  see 
her  alone,  if  they  required  it.  At  other  times  she  read 
memorials,  or  dictated  letters  and  dispatches,  signed 
papers,  &c.  At  noon,  her  dinner  was  brought  in,  consist- 
ing of  a  few  dishes,  served  with  simplicity;  she  usually 
dined  alone,  like  Napoleon,  and  for  the  same  reason — 
to  economize  time.  After  dinner  she  was  engaged  in 
public  business  till  six;  after  that  hour  her  daughters 
were  admitted  to  join  in  her  evening  prayer.  If  they 
absented  themselves,  she  sent  to  know  if  they  were  in- 
disposed; if  not,  they  were  certain  of  meeting  with  a 
maternal  reprimand  on  the  following  day.  At  half  past 
eight  or  nine,  she  retired  to  rest.  When  she  held  a  draw- 
ing-room or  an  evening-circle,  she  remained  till  ten  or 
eleven,  and  sometimes  played  at  cards.  Before  the  death 
of  her  husband,  she  was  often  present  at  the  masked 
balls,  or  ridottos,  which  were  given  at  court  during  the 
carnival;  afterward  these  entertainments  and  the  number 
of  fetes,  or  gala-days,  were  gradually  diminished  in  num- 
ber. During  the  last  years  of  her  life,  when  she  became 
very  infirm,  the  nobility  and  foreign  ministers  generally 
assembled  at  the  houses  of  Prince  Kaunitz  and  Prince 
CoUerado. 


208  These  Splendid  Women 

The  treaty  of  Teschen  was  the  last  political  event  of 
Maria  Theresa's  reign  in  which  she  was  actively  and  per- 
sonally concerned.  Her  health  had  been  for  some  time 
declining,  and  for  several  months  previous  to  her  death 
she  was  unable  to  move  from  her  chair  without  as- 
sistance; yet,  notwithstanding  her  many  infirmities,  her 
deportment  was  still  dignified,  her  manner  graceful  as 
well  as  gracious,  and  her  countenance  benign. 

She  had  long  accustomed  herself  to  look  death  steadily 
in  the  face,  and  when  the  hour  of  trial  came,  her  resigna- 
tion, her  fortitude,  and  her  humble  trust  in  Heaven  never 
failed  her.  She  preserved  to  the  last  her  self-possession 
and  her  strength  of  mind,  and  betrayed  none  of  those 
superstitious  terrors  which  might  have  been  expected  and 
pardoned  in  Maria  Theresa. 

Until  the  evening  preceding  her  death,  she  was  en- 
gaged in  signing  papers,  and  in  giving  her  last  advice 
and  directions  to  her  successor ;  and  when,  perceiving  her 
exhausted  state,  her  son  entreated  her  to  take  some  re- 
pose, she  replied  steadily — *Tn  a  few  hours  I  shall  ap- 
pear before  the  judgment-seat  of  God,  and  would  you 
have  me  sleep?" 

Maria  Theresa  expired  on  the  29th  of  November,  1780, 
in  her  sixty-fourth  year ;  and  it  is,  in  truth,  most  worthy 
of  remark,  that  the  regrets  of  her  family  and  her  people 
did  not  end  with  the  pageant  of  her  funeral,  nor  were 
obliterated  by  the  new  interests,  new  hopes,  new  splendors 
of  a  new  reign.  Years  after  her  death  she  was  still  re- 
membered with  tenderness  and  respect,  and  her  subjects 
dated  events  from  the  time  of  their  "mother,"  the  empress. 
The  Hungarians,  who  regarded  themselves  as  her  own 
especial  people,  still  distinguish  their  country  from  Austria 
and  Bohemia,  by  calling  it  the  "territory  of  the  queen." 


(i^adame  de  Pompadour 

By  EDMUND  DE  GONCOURT 

MADAME  DE  POMPADOUR'  had  the  mis- 
fortune and  the  bad  taste  to  be  the  daughter 
of  a  M.  Poisson,  interested  in  the  commis- 
sariat, whose  peculations  had  driven  him  into  exile,  and 
of  a  Madame  Poisson,  daughter  of  one  De  La  Mothe, 
contractor  of  provisions  for  the  InvaHdes,  whose  gal- 
lantry has  passed  into  a  proverb.  At  the  moment  of  her 
birth,  her  mother  was  conducting  a  regular  intrigue  with 
M.  Lenormand  de  Tournehem,  who,  deeming  himself  to 
have  considerable  share  in  the  little  Poisson's  entrance 
into  the  world,  provided  for  the  cost  of  the  young  girl's 
magnificent  education.  It  was  not  long  before  Mad- 
emoiselle Poisson  was  surrounded  by  a  court  of  lovers; 
but  the  most  ardent  of  her  admirers  was  a  nephew  of 
M.  Lenormand  de  Tournehem,  M.  Lenormand  d'fitioles. 
The  arrangements  for  a  family  marriage  were  soon  settled 
without  any  difficulty. 

M.  Lenormand  de  Tournehem  gave  up  the  half  of  his 
property  to  his  nephew,  with  the  promise  of  the  other 
half  after  his  death;  and  Mademoiselle  Poisson  became 
Madame  d':6tioles.  She  entered  upon  the  fortune  of  her 
husband  without  embarrassment,  and  took  possession,  with 
perfect  ease,  of  the  charming  estate  of  fitioles,  in  the 
government  of  Sens,  where  the  young  bride  reorganized 
and  recalled  the  society  of  Madame  Poisson,  and  M.  de 
Tournehem,  Cahusac,  Fontenelle,  the  Abbe  de  Bernis, 
Maupertuis  and  Voltaire,  who  will  later  remind  the  Mar- 


210  These  Splendid  Women 

quise,  in  a  letter,  of  the  wine  of  Tokay  drunk  at  J^tioles. 
Madame  d']&tioles  had  married  with  the  utmost  coldness 
and  reason.  She  was  quite  indifferent  to  her  husband's 
passion,  seeing  him  as  he  was,  short,  fairly  ugly,  and 
badly  built.  Marriage,  moreover,  to  her  was  neither  an 
aim  nor  an  end ;  it  was  a  state  of  transition  and  a  means. 
A  fixed  ambition  which  had  dazzled  her  childish  instincts, 
her  dreams  as  a  young  girl,  filled  her  aspirations  as  a 
woman.  The  first  impressions  of  her  imagination,  the 
credulous  beliefs  and  superstitions  which  were  in  her, 
represented  the  frailty  of  her  sex,  the  promises  of  the 
fortune-tellers  to  whom  later  she  will  hie  secretly  from 
Versailles  to  consult  the  future;  the  cynical  and  insolent 
hopes  which  issued  from  the  lips  of  her  mother  in  view 
of  the  grace  and  talents  of  her  daughter,  her  nature 
and  her  education  predestined  Madame  d'fitioles  to  be- 
come *'a  king's  morsel."  In  her  heart,  as  in  the  heart  of 
Madame  de  Vintimille,  there  grew  and  germinated  a 
rooted  plan  oi  seduction,  the  great  project  of  an  enormous 
fortune;  and  we  have  proof  of  this  secret  thought  of 
Madame  d']&tioles'  premeditation  in  the  curious  accounts 
recently  published.  We  read  in  the  list  of  pensions,  made 
by  Madame  de  Pompadour:  600  livres  to  Madame 
Lehon,  for  having  predicted  to  her,  when  nine  years  old, 
that  she  would  one  day  become  the  mistress  of  Louis 
XV.  That  was  the  starting  point  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Poisson's  dream. 

It  begins  with  the  gipsy's  prophecy,  uttered  on  the 
threshold  of  life,  as  at  the  opening  of  a  novel.  Thence- 
forward Madame  Lebon's  auspicious  forecast  takes  pos- 
session of  her;  and  for  all  her  smile,  it  is  in  no  jesting 
mood  that  she  says,  that  once  married,  no  one  in  the 
world  save  the  King  shall  make  her  unfaithful  to  her 
husband. 

Madame  d'Etioles  caught  sight  of  the  King  at  Ver- 
sailles: her  whole  life  hinges  on  being  seen,  noticed  by 
him.     To  this  pursuit  of  a  glance  from  Louis  XV.  she 


These  Splendid  Women  211 

brings  the  labor  of  all  her  ideas,  her  time  wfthout  count- 
ing it;  to  it  she  consecrates  all  the  liberty  and  facility 
afforded  her  by  a  husband  who  is  in  bondage  to  her 
caprices,  submissive  to  her  slightest  wish.  At  l&tioles  she 
throws  herself  in  the  King's  way  in  the  forest  of  Senart, 
the  meeting-place  of  the  royal  hunt;  she  exposes  herself 
to  his  curiosity,  tempts  in  the  daintiest  of  costumes;  she 
flutters  before  his  eyes  that  fan,  upon  which,  it  is  said, 
some  rival  of  Masse  had  depicted  Henri  IV.  at  Gabrielle's 
feet.  She  passes  and  repasses  in  the  midst  of  the  horses, 
dogs,  and  escort  of  the  King,  like  some  light  and  alluring 
Diana,  now  clad  in  azure,  in  a  rose-coloured  phaeton,  now 
in  an  azure-coloured  phaeton,  clad  in  rose.  The  King 
looked  at  her,  remarked  her,  and  took  a  pleasure  in  the 
handsome  equipage  which  set  the  court  a-talking.  One 
day,  when  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse  is  talking  to  the 
King  of  the  "little  d'Jfitioles,"  the  Duchesse  de  Chateau- 
roux  drew  near  her  noiselessly  and  trod  so  heavily  on 
her  foot  that  Madame  de  Chevreuse  was  hurt.  On  the 
following  day,  Madame  de  Chateauroux,  during  the  visit 
of  apology  she  paid  her,  let  fall,  with  a  negligent  air,  the 
question:  "Do  you  know  that  they  are  trying  to  force 
the  little  d'fitioles  on  the  King,  and  are  only  seeking  for 
the  means  ?"  Nor  did  Madame  de  Chateauroux  stop  short 
there :  she  gave  Madame  d'lfitioles  to  understand  that  she 
was  to  appear  no  more  at  the  King's  hunt.  Madame 
d'J&tioles  resigned  herself  to  waiting  for  the  death  of 
Madame  de  Chateauroux  before  she  ventured  on  any 
fresh  attempt.  The  great  masked  ball  given  every  year 
on  the  Sunday  before  Lent,  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  gave 
her  an  opportunity  of  approaching  the  King,  towards  the 
end  of  February  1745.  Louis  XV.  was  attacked  by  a 
charming  mask  who  tormented  him  with  a  thousand 
provocations,  a  thousand  pretty  sayings.  At  the  King's 
entreaty,  the  domino  consented  to  unmask,  and  the  hand- 
kerchief which  Madame  d'J^tioles  dropped,  as  though  by 
accident,  when  she  raised  her  mask,  was  picked  up  by 


212  These  Splendid  Women 

Louis  XV.,  to  the  accompaniment  of  this  murmur  amongst 
the  company:     "The  handkerchief  has  been  thrown." 

Some  days  later,  if  the  biographers  of  the  time  are  to 
be  believed,  when  retiring  to  bed  one  night,  the  King 
unbosomed  himself  to  Binet  upon  the  disgust  he  derived 
from  those  amours  without  a  morrow,  his  weariness  of 
chance  women  and  connections  of  caprice.  He  confided 
to  him  his  repulsion  towards  Madame  de  Popeliniere,  who 
was  pushed  to  the  front  and  maintained  by  Richelieu, 
towards  the  Duchess  de  Rochechouart,  afterwards  Com- 
tesse  de  Brionne,  whom  a  court  intrigue  sought  to  foist 
on  him,  and  of  whom  the  scurvy  tongues  at  court  said 
jestingly  that  "she  was  like  the  horses  in  the  small  stables, 
always  being  offered,  never  accepted."  Binet,  who  was 
distantly  related  to  Madame  d':6tioles,  then  spoke  to  the 
King  of  a  person  who  could  not  fail  to  please  him,  and 
who  had,  from  her  very  childhood,  cherished  the  most 
tender  sentiments  towards  the  King  of  France.  And 
Binet  reminded  Louis  XV.  of  the  woman  of  the  forest 
of  Senart,  the  woman  of  the  masked  ball.  He  revived  his 
memories,  appealed  to  the  recollection  of  his  heart  and 
eyes  with  so  much  eloquence,  skill  and  fire,  that  the  King 
authorized  him  to  ask  for  an  appointment.  The  appoint- 
ment was  granted. 

A  month  elapsed.  The  King  held  his  tongue.  He 
seemed  deaf  to  the  allusions  of  Binet  and  of  Bridge,  one 
of  his  equerries,  and  a  strong  friend  of  Madame  fitioles. 
Notwithstanding,  the  intrigue  started  by  Binet,  in  concert 
with  that  indefatigable  intriguer,  Madame  de  Tencin,  who 
had  staked  upon  Madame  d'fitiole's  chances, — the  first 
rendezvous  had  not  taken  place  without  exciting  comment. 
It  came  to  the  ears  of  Boyer,  the  Dauphin's  tutor,  who 
had  been  delivered  over  by  Madame  de  Chateauroux  to 
the  sarcasms  of  Voltaire.  Boyer  openly  threatened  Binet 
that  he  would  have  him  dismissed  by  the  Dauphin.  He 
set  himself  against  the  evil  example  which  would  be 
derived  from  the  acknowledgment  of  a  mistress  accused 


These  Splendid  Women  213 

of  irreligion,  whose  youth  had  been  spent  in  the  society 
and  the  school  of  Voltaire,  Fontenelle,  Maupertius.  But 
Madame  d']^tioles  had  already  a  following  amongst  the 
King's  intimates.  They  aroused  Louis  XV.  with  their 
suggestions,  their  remarks,  the  incitements  they  made  to 
his  vanity.  They  pointed  out  to  him  the  affectation  of 
the  young  Dauphine,  in  refusing  to  appear  any  longer  in 
the  private  apartments,  in  consequence  of  the  indecorous 
judgments  her  husband  passed  upon  the  King's  conduct. 
They  irritated  him  against  what  was  censorious  and 
insulting  in  this  observation,  and  pointed  out  to  him  the 
feebleness  he  would  show  in  submitting  to  the  intrigues 
of  his  son's  tutor,  the  lessons  of  his  menials.  One  night 
the  King  asked  Binet  with  a  laugh  what  had  become  of 
his  kinswoman.  Louis  XV.  then  admitted  to  his  valet- 
de-chambre  that  she  had  pleased  him,  but  added  that  he 
had  thought  to  detect  in  her  ambition  and  self-interest. 
Binet  hastened  to  answer  that  Madame  d':fitioles  was 
madly  in  love  with  the  King,  and  that,  as  her  husband 
had  conceived  suspicions  of  her  first  fault,  nothing  was 
left  her  but  to  die  of  despair,  in  order  that  she  might  not 
survive  the  King's  love,  and  to  deceive  the  resentment 
of  a  man  who  adored  her.  The  King  declared  that  he 
would  be  charmed  to  see  her  a  second  time ;  and  a  second 
interview  took  place  on  the  22nd  of  April  1745.  Madame 
d'fitioles  was  invited  to  sup  in  the  private  apartments  with 
Luxembourg  and  Richelieu,  who  treated  her  coldly 
enough,  omitted  to  praise  her  beauty  or  applaud  her  witty 
conversation.  But  this  time  Madame  d']d:tioles,  fore- 
warned by  Binet,  dissembled  her  ambitions  and  the  char- 
acter which  had  alarmed  the  King;  she  put  a  rein  upon 
her  soul,  and  was  no  more  than  the  amiable  woman  the 
King  desired  her  to  be. 

Binet  had  spoken  the  truth :  the  night  spent  away  from 
the  conjugal  bed  had  opened  the  eyes  of  the  poor  husband, 
who,  being  sincerely  and  passionately  in  love,  threatened, 
in  the  first  violence  of  his  resentment,  his  shame  and  his 


214  These  Splendid  Women 

sorrow,  to  proceed  to  extremities.  Taking  advantage  of 
these  threats,  the  jealous  storms  which  awaited  her  at 
home,  Madame  d'fitioles  played  the  part  of  a  woman  in 
a  state  of  terror,  and  her  fears  moved  the  King,  who 
allowed  her  in  the  morning  to  hide  herself  in  the  former 
apartment  of  Madame  de  Mailly.  It  was  from  there  that, 
mistress  of  the  man  and  the  position,  holding  the  King 
all  day  by  her  love  and  her  caresses,  the  wife  of  M. 
d';fitioles  extracted  from  the  King,  successively,  a  lodging, 
the  promise  of  her  acknowledgment,  the  promise  of  her 
husband's  banishment,  the  promise  of  protection  against 
the  cabal  of  the  Dauphin.  And  a  few  days  later  she 
further  obtained  from  the  King  the  assurance  that  she 
should  be  installed,  acknowledged  as  titular  mistress  in 
Easter  week,  in  order  that  her  triumph  might  be  shown 
publicly  to  involve  that  absolute  independence  from  the 
principles  of  the  Dauphin  which  she  exacted  from  the 
King. 

After  that,  soaring  forth  suddenly  in  that  Versailles 
whither  she  had  crept  so  humbly,  Madame  d'fitioles, 
without  being  in  any  way  disturbed  by  the  approach  of 
greatness,  made  her  debut  by  a  master-stroke.  Realizing 
that  any  compromise  between  the  Dauphin  and  herself 
was  impossible,  she  sought  to  diminish  his  following  and 
forces,  by  disarming  the  Queen  with  her  caresses,  her 
submission,  her  careful  efforts  to  be  pleasant  to  her  on 
all  occasions.  She  played  an  admirable  comedy  to  her, 
saying  that  people  had  injured  her  in  her  opinion,  speak- 
ing of  "a  week's  incomparable  sorrow,"  and  that  with 
so  moved  an  accent,  a  display  of  her  graces  so  calculated 
to  deceive  and  touch  the  Queen,  that  the  Duchesse  de 
Luynes  came,  on  behalf  of  Marie-Leczinska,  to  assure 
Madame  d'fitioles  of  her  kindly  feelings  to  her.  It  was 
such  a  new  thing  to  the  Queen  to  meet  with  consideration 
from  one  of  her  husband's  mistresses ! 

The  King,  captivated,  enthralled,  succumbed  to  the 
bondage  of  this  new  amour,  and  by  the  9th  of  July,  1745 


These  Splendid  Women  215 

Madame  d'fitioles  could  exhibit  with  pride  eighty  love- 
letters  of  the  King,  sealed  with  the  device  ^'discreet  and 
faithful,"  which  he  had  written  to  her  since  the  beginning 
of  May,  when  he  had  set  off  to  become  the  conqueror  of 
Fontenoy.  At  last,  on  the  King's  return — his  long  absence 
with  the  army  had  delayed  her  presentation — Madame 
d'fitioles  was  presented  to  the  court  (14th  September 
1745)  at  six  o'clock,  in  the  King's  apartment,  before  a 
vast  company  which  filled  chamber  and  ante-chamber, 
and  whose  curiosity  derived  pleasure  from  the  excessive 
embarrassment  of  the  King  and  the  mistress.  Madame 
d':£tioles  was  escorted  by  the  Princesse  de  Conti,  who 
had  played  such  a  large  part  in  the  King's  intrigue  with 
Madame  de  Mailly,  and  whose  prodigality,  the  disorders 
of  her  household,  whose  debts  and  whose  husband's  debts, 
had  cast  for  these  such  complaisant  roles.  She  was  ac- 
companied by  Madame  de  La  Chaumontauban,  and  her 
cousin,  Madame  d'Estrades.  From  the  King's  apartment, 
Madame  d'fitioles  repaired  to  the  Queen,  where  a  host  of 
curious  persons,  even  more  numerous  than  had  been  pres- 
ent at  the  King's,  were  thronged  in  expectation.  Great 
was  the  astonishment  of  the  courtiers,  who  were  ignorant 
of  Madame  d'litiole's  skilful  manoeuvre,  when,  instead  of 
some  meaningless  compliment  upon  her  gown,  the  Queen, 
reminding  the  newly-presented  mistress  of  one  of  the  few 
women  of  the  great  noblesse  with  whom  she  was  intimate, 
said  to  her:  "Pray,  liave  you  any  news  of  Madame  de 
Saissac?  I  was  very  pleased  to  have  met  her  sometimes 
in  Paris.''  Touched  at  such  noble  charity,  Madame 
d'Jfitioles  stammered  out  this  sentence:  ''Madame,  my 
greatest  passion  is  to  please  you."  But  the  Dauphin  was 
faithful  to  his  part:  as  it  had  been  previously  arranged, 
he  paid  Madame  d'ifitioles  a  few  frigid  compliments  upon 
her  toilette. 

At  the  time  when  Madame  de  Mailly  became  the 
mistress  of  Louis  XV.,  public  opinion  declared,  in  the 
mouth  of  the  chronicler,  Barbier,  "that  nothing  could  be 


216  These  Splendid  Women 

said,  the  name  of  Nesle  being  one  of  the  greatest  names 
in  the  kingdom."  Compare  with  this  dictum,  meaningless 
to-day,  the  sentiment  which  greets  the  arrival  of  Madame 
d':£tioles,  who  assumed  in  the  year  of  her  presentation 
the  name  of  an  extinct  family,  the  title  of  Marquise  de 
Pompadour,  and  you  will  have  the  measure  of  an  extinct 
prejudice,  a  prejudice  of  which  our  age  has  lost  the  very 
meaning.  This  amorous  mesalliance  of  the  King,  the 
novelty  of  a  parvenu  mistress,  of  a  woman  bearing  no 
great  name,  raised  to  the  administration  of  the  royal 
favour,  the  installation  at  Versailles  of  this  grisette,  this 
tradeswoman — it  is  the  expression  of  a  republican  of  the 
Monarchy,  of  the  Marquis  d'Argenson — met  from  the 
very  first  with  such  contemptuous  hostility,  such  obstacles, 
in  the  tradition  of  the  court,  the  very  habits  of  the 
nation,  that  for  a  moment  it  was  thought  the  mistress 
would  be  unable  to  maintain  her  position.  All  the  haughty 
jealousy  innate  in  the  aristocracy,  all  its  contemptuous 
hatred  for  the  enriching  and  aggrandisement  of  the  middle 
classes,  was  directed  against  the  little  bourgeoise  who  had 
been  so  insolent  as  to  usurp  a  heart  whose  frailties  were 
the  property  of  women  of  birth  and  of  the  world  of 
Versailles.  The  scandal  was  not  only  a  scandal,  it  was 
a  breach  of  privilege;  and  hence  the  explosion  and 
vehemence  of  discontent  from  the  whole  of  that  court, 
wounded,  outraged,  and,  as  it  were,  insulted  by  the  inso- 
lent success  of  Madame  d'fitioles.  There  is  an  immediate 
organization  of  a  conspiracy  of  espionage  and  calumny. 
The  women  are  all  eyes,  exercise  the  most  piercing  and 
malicious  qualities  of  their  spirit  of  observation,  to  pene- 
trate the  woman  to  the  bottom.  They  spy,  study,  analyse 
her  tone,  her  manners,  her  language,  until  they  have 
found  the  foot  of  clay  within  the  goddess:  the  lack  of 
that  distinction  which  is  not  taught  or  acquired,  but  is 
handed  down  like  a  natural  tradition  in  the  blood  of  a 
caste — the  lack  of  race.  The  most  malicious  tongues,  the 
most  redoubtable  scoffers,  the  most  impertinent  rakes  take 


These  Splendid  Women  217 

up  arms  against  her,  accentuate  her  smallest  inadvertences, 
her  slightest  breaches  of  etiquette,  and,  above  all,  the 
expressions  she  has  not  had  time  to  forget  on  her  journey 
from  Paris  to  Versailles. 

And  is  it  not  easy  for  them  to  attack  this  woman  who 
brings  familiar  nicknames  to  court,  who  calls  the  Due  de 
Chaulnes  "my  pig,"  and  Madame  d'Amblimont,  "my  rag- 
bag," the  vulgar  tongue,  a  sort  of  familiar,  popular  speech 
which  is  one  day  to  bestow  on  the  daughters  of  Louis 
XV.  the  strange  pet  names  with  which  their  father  will 
baptise  them?     A  league  is  started  to  arouse  the  King's 
mocking  instincts  against  the  mistress,  to  discredit  her,  in 
the  name  of  distinction,  and  to  make  the  self-love  of  the 
lover  blush  for  such  an  amour.     The  courtiers  are   so 
successful  in  their  feigned  astonishment  at  the  nothings 
which  fall  from  the  favourite,  at  all  that  is  over  "free" 
in  her  speech  and  betrays  her   origin,  that  they  extort 
from  the  embarrassed  and  quite  shame-faced  King  this 
confession :     "It  is  an  education  which  it  will  amuse  me 
to  complete."     Madame  de  Lauraguais,  that  wittiest  of 
women,  deceived  in  her  hopes  and  supplanted,  dismantles 
the  little  bourgeoise  who  has  stolen  the  King  from  her, 
from  head  to  foot,  omitting  not  a  gesture,  dissects  her, 
passes  her  from  one  hand  to  another  like  a  stripped  doll, 
and  delivers  her  to  the  laughter  of  the  gallery.    The  royal 
family,  sensible  to  the  humiliation  of  such  a  liaison,  sulks 
and  murmurs  against  the  mistress  who  has  detracted  from 
the  honour  of  the  King's  adultery.     On  that  side  of  the 
court,  they  make  a  point  of   not  speaking  to   Madame 
d':6tioles  at  the  hunt,  even  of  not  replying  to  her  ques- 
tions ;  and  disdain,  in  the  somewhat  rough  nature  of  the 
Dauphin,  almost  becomes  brutality.    It  is  not  long  before 
the  court  infects  the  public  with  its  hatred ;  the  whispers 
of  Versailles  reach  the  street,  the  very  populace,  and  un^ 
loose  curiosity  and  insult.    The  maHce  of  the  nation  peers 
into  the  foulness  of  Madame  d'fitioles'  cradle  and  the  ig- 
nominy of  her  origin.    A  cluster  of  furtive,  flying  leaflets 


218  These  Splendid  Women 

falls  around  that  rotten  tree — the  genealogical  tree  of 
Mademoiselle  Poisson.  It  is  one  of  those  floods  of  songs 
and  libels  which,  at  certain  moments  in  her  history,  relieve 
the  gall  of  France.  They  spring  up  everywhere,  these 
Mazarinades  of  the  eighteenth  century;  the  Poissonnades 
which  fling  at  the  forehead  and  the  heart  of  Madame 
d'fitioles  the  double  shame  of  her  birth — her  father,  her 
mother. 

Maurepas,  faithful  to  his  part  of  enemy  to  the  King's 
mistresses  or  wives,  led  the  war  against  the  favorite.  He 
was  the  soul  of  the  satires  which  filled  Paris  and  Ver- 
sailles. Relying  on  that  great  power,  the  witty  tribunal, 
which  he  held  with  Pont  de  Veyle  and  Caylus,  even  more 
redoubtable  with  him  through  those  supper  parties,  where 
all  the  best  society  thronged,  and  where  his  genius  for 
caricature,  his  vein  of  irony,  spurred  by  the  stimulus  of 
wine,  gave,  amidst  the  freedom  which  attends  the  end  of 
a  repast,  a  comedy  so  admirably  played,  spoken,  mimicked, 
gesticulated,  of  the  airs,  manners,  tricks  of  Madame 
d']^tioles,  Maurepas,  that  high-chancellor  of  ridicule  and 
of  the  regiment  of  La  Calotte,  was  of  all  the  favorite's 
enemies  the  one  who  knew  how  to  inflict  the  most  grievous 
wounds,  and  to  strike  the  woman  most  surely  and  piti- 
lessly in  the  most  intimate  part  of  her  vanity,  her  frailties, 
even  to  the  very  secrets  of  her  body,  her  health,  her 
temperament. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  was  not  ignorant  of  the  dangers 
of  this  malicious  war  which  might  strike  such  a  formid- 
able blow  at  her  favor  by  gaining  the  smile  of  the 
King's  ironical  mind.  In  order  to  resist  the  hostilities  of 
Maurepas,  to  put  herself  on  guard  against  the  prejudices 
of  his  colleagues,  the  Comte  d'Argenson,  Machault  and 
Orry,  the  Controller-General,  she  sought  allies  and  made 
friends.  She  acquired  the  support  of  a  Prince  of  the 
Blood,  the  Prince  de  Conti,  whom  she  attached  to  the 
interest  of  her  fortunes,  by  flattering  his  secret  ambi- 
tions, by  promising  to  arrange  the  marriage  of  Madame 


These  Splendid  Women  219 

Adelaide  and  his  son.  She  surrounded  herself  with  the 
devotion  of  those  State  financiers,  the  brothers  Paris,  from 
whom  she  received  great  services  before  becoming  Mar- 
quise de  Pompadour.  She  made  them  her  men  and  her 
maintainers,  by  fortifying  the  King — so  alarmed  and  an- 
noyed at  financial  embarrassments — in  the  belief  that  only 
they,  with  their  calculations,  ideas,  experience,  were 
capable  of  furnishing  the  money  necessary  for  the  needs 
of  the  war.  With  her  words  and  all  her  efforts  she  fur- 
thered the  proud  plans,  the  haughty  audacity,  the  mobile 
and  enraged  policy  of  those  real  masters  of  the  wealth  of 
France,  whose  imagination  contemplated  successively  the 
ruin  of  Austria,  Holland,  and  Russia.  She  concealed 
with  all  the  resources  of  her  ability  the  extravagance  and 
heritage  of  debt  involved  in  this  system,  which  ruined  the 
provinces,  but  always  found  money  for  the  King  and 
Paris.  She  made  the  King  and  the  Council  lend  an  ear 
to  the  ideas  of  Duvernay,  with  whom  she  acquired  credit 
through  the  eloquence  and  apparent  good-nature  of  Mar- 
montel.  She  incessantly  dilated  to  the  King  on  the  un- 
easiness, the  loss  of  public  credit  which  would  ensue,  if 
these  men  were  to  fall;  and  by  giving  them  on  every 
occasion  and  at  every  hour  the  authority  of  her  friend- 
ship, the  succour  of  her  protection,  allying  herself  with 
them  even  to  intimacy,  entering  into  their  families,  where 
she  brought  peace,  she  made  them  auxiliaries  at  her  or- 
ders, the  foes  of  her  foes;  and  it  was  with  their  aid 
that  she  overthrew  the  Controller-General,  Orry,  who  was 
opposed  to  her  expenses,  and  even  less  favourably  dis- 
posed towards  her  than  towards  the  Duchesse  de 
Chateauroux. 

For  several  Lents,  already,  in  order  to  enliven  the 
King's  piety  and  his  remorse,  Madame  de  Pompadour  had 
arranged  his  Holy  Week  for  him  after  the  pattern  of  an 
opera:  she  offered  him  spiritual  concerts  in  her  apart- 
ments, and  grand  motets,  in  which  she  sang  herself,  with 
Madame  Marchais,  Madame  de  I'Hopital,  Madame  de  La 


220  These  Splendid  Women 

Salle,  the  Vicomte  de  Rohan;  Monsieur  D'Ayen  the 
younger,  who  were  supported  by  the  finest  voices  in  Paris, 
Mademoiselle  Fel  and  Geliotte,  and  the  musicians  of  the 
Cabinets.  But  this  was  only  an  experiment  to  pave  the 
way;  and  with  these  mundane  canticles,  which  soothed, 
for  an  instant,  the  melancholy  of  the  King,  Madame  de 
Pompadour  was  preparing  him  for  the  distraction  of  the 
theatre.  The  theatre,  with  its  various  resources,  its  chang- 
ing spectacle,  its  speaking  illusions,  with  its  magic,  its 
interest,  all  the  hold  it  has  over  the  mental  and  physical 
attention,  must  it  not  be,  in  the  eyes  of  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  the  surest  and  happiest  means  of  interesting 
the  King's  senses,  reviving  his  imagination,  of  making  him 
live  for  a  few  hours  afar  from  the  realities  and  business 
of  his  royal  life,  in  the  enchanted  deception  of  an  ani- 
mated fiction  and  a  living  dream?  What  better  thought, 
indeed,  could  occur  to  the  mind  of  a  favorite  in  order  to 
offer  to  a  King  what  Pascal  calls  a  King's  greatest  felicity : 
the  diversion  from  himself  and  release  from  thoughts 
of  himself  ? 

Moreover,  it  was  not  merely  the  interests,  it  was  also 
the  instincts  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  which  led  her  to 
the  theatre.  Her  mind,  as  her  graces,  were  of  their  age, 
of  that  age,  possessed,  even  in  the  lowest  ranks  of  the 
middle  classes,  by  the  passion  for  the  comedy  of  society. 
The  tastes  of  the  woman  then  were  in  harmony  with  the 
calculations  of  the  favorite,  and  no  less  than  her  desire 
to  occupy  the  King  and  dominate  the  court,  the  recollec- 
tion and  the  regret  for  her  past  successes  impelled  her  to 
seek  once  more  upon  a  royal  stage  the  applause  whose 
triumph  and  joy  had  been  hers  upon  the  stage  of  Monsieur 
de  Tournehem  at  iStioles,  upon  the  stage  of  Madame  de 
Villemur  at  Chautemerle. 

To  fix  the  King's  will  it  was  suf^cient  to  fix  his  curi- 
osity. An  easy  task!  to  which  all  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour's friends  applied  themselves  with  ardor.  The  Due 
de  Richelieu,  who  had  seen  Madame  de  Pompadour  play 


These  Splendid  Women  221 

at  Chautemerle,  the  Due  de  Nivernois  and  the  Due  de 
Duras,  who  had  played  with  her  there,  besieged  the 
King's  ear  and  filled  his  mind  with  words,  notions  of 
spectacle,  comedy;  they  spoke  to  him  of  the  talents  of 
his  mistress,  of  all  the  accomplishments,  which  she  had 
not  as  yet  had  the  opportunity  or  satisfaction  of  showing 
him.  The  King,  interested  and  seduced,  met  the  wishes 
of  Madame  de  Pompadour ;  he  smiled  at  the  creation  of  a 
theatre  in  the  private  apartments.  The  stage  was  erected 
in  the  Cabinet  of  Medals.  The  pieces  were  chosen,  the 
company  formed,  rehearsals  organized.  Madame  de 
Pompadour  associated  the  King  with  her  energy,  her 
labors;  she  made  him  share  her  impatience,  triumphed 
over  his  antipathies;  and  it  was  a  piece  by  Voltaire, 
L'Enfant  Prodigue,  which  inaugurated  this  intimate  the- 
atre, where  etiquette  did  not  exist,  and  where,  for  the  first 
time  in  France,  the  King's  presence  in  person  left  the 
public  free  to  its  manifestations  and  permitted  them  to 
applaud.  In  the  interval  between  the  first  and  second 
performances  of  UEnfant  Prodigne,  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour produced  Le  Mediant  of  Cresset,  which  was  still 
bidding  for  success  with  the  Parisian  public.  Then  to 
comedies  succeeded  operas,  ballets,  La  Bruere's  Bacchus 
and  Erigonc,  Rebel's  Ismenc,  La  Garde's  L'Eglee,  La 
Surprise  de  V Amour  and  Tancrcde,  and  the  ballet  of 
L'Opcratem  Chinois. 

The  theatre  of  the  Cabinets  was  soon  a  perfectly  organ- 
ized and  decorated  theatre.  Madame  de  Pompadour  had 
appointed  as  director  the  Due  de  La  Valliere,  the  best 
organizer  of  comedies  in  France ;  as  prompter,  an  abbe, 
her  secretary  and  librarian,  the  Abbe  de  La  Carde.  The 
orchestra  was  a  most  excellent  one ;  and  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour seated  in  it  by  the  side  of  the  King's  professional 
musicians,  the  most  renowned  amateurs  in  the  kingdom, 
the  Prince  de  Dombes,  Marliere's  rival  upon  the  bassoon, 
the  Marquise  de  Souches  so  skilled  upon  the  viol,  and  M. 
de  Courtomer,  who  vied  with  Mondonville  as  a  violinist. 


222  These  Splendid  Women 

Dehesse,  an  actor  from  the  Italian  Comedy,  led  and  ar- 
ranged the  ballets.  Bury  directed  the  operatic  portions 
and  the  choirs.  Madame  de  Pompadour's  theatrical  com- 
pany— a  company  into  which  the  Due  de  Chartres  only 
entered  with  difficulty ! — was  as  complete  as  it  was  highly 
bom.  Amongst  the  women,  it  included  Madame  de  Sas- 
senage,  Madame  de  Pons,  Madame  de  Brancas,  such  ac- 
complished actresses  in  Tartujfe,  and  the  youthful 
Madame  de  Livri,  so  charming  as  a  miller's  daughter. 
The  operatic  parts  were  sustained  by  Madame  de  Mar- 
chais,  Madame  de  Brancas,  and  Madame  de  Trusson. 
The  company  was  proud  of  possessing  that  rare  comedian, 
the  admirable  Valere  of  Le  MecJmnt,  whose  acting,  at 
times,  was  a  lesson  to  the  Theatre  Fran^ais,  the  Due  de 
Nivernois.  There  were  other  good  actors,  such  as  the 
Marquise  de  Voyer,  Croissy,  Clermont  d'Amboise.  The 
Comte  de  Maillebois  played  admirably  in  Duf  reny's  Mar- 
iage  fait  et  rompu,  La  Valliere  excelled  in  the  parts  of 
baihffs,  and  the  Due  de  Duras  as  Blaise.  The  singers 
were  Clermont  d'Amboise,  Courbanvaux,  Luxembourg, 
D'Ayen,  Villeroi.  Dupre  and  Balletti  had  trained  the 
Due  de  Beuvron,  the  Comte  de  Melfort,  the  Prince  of 
Hesse  and  the  Comte  de  Langeron  as  dancers.  And  to 
complete  the  dancing,  a  battalion  of  figurants  and  figur- 
antes from  nine  years  old  to  twelve,  a  miniature  opera, 
in  which  La  Puvigne,  La  Camille  and  La  Dorfeuille  were 
already  noticeable,  supported  the  solo  dancers.  The  com- 
pany possessed  a  musical  copyist,  a  wig-maker,  no  other 
than  Notrelle,  the  wig-maker  of  the  Menus-Plaisirs,  so 
noted  for  his  sublime  wigs,  for  gods,  demons,  heroes, 
shepherds,  Tritons,  Cyclops,  naiads  and  furies.  It  had 
seven  costumiers,  who  went  to  take  the  measures  of  Ver- 
sailles, two  dressers,  whose  names  were  La  Jaussin  and 
La  Dangeville.  It  had  wardrobes,  dancing-shoes,  silken 
stockings  that  cost  fifteen  livres,  Roman  buskins  and 
Roman  wigs,  black  moustaches,  flame-coloured  top-knots, 
two  hundred  and  two  costumes  for  men,  a  hundred  and 


These  Splendid  Women  223 

fifty-three  costumes  for  women,  and  brocades,  tissues,  em- 
broideries, braids  and  tassels  of  gold  and  silver  to  the 
value  of  two  thousand  one  hundred  and  twenty  livres. 
It  possessed  all  necessary  and  conceivable  properties,  ac- 
cessories of  Tartarus  or  the  Elysian  fields,  materials  for 
a  voyage  to  Cythera  and  a  pilgrimage  to  Paphos ;  twelve 
blue  and  silver  staffs  and  twelve  gourds,  four  shepherds' 
crooks  garnished  with  blue,  a  club  imitated  in  cardboard, 
a  set  of  mechanical  serpents— and,  not  least,  those  speak- 
ing arms  of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  a  wheel  of  Fortune 
and  a  magician's  wand !    It  was  really  a  theatre,  in  which 
nothing  was  lacking,  not  even  regulations,  laws,  a  charter. 
Madame  de  Pompadour  had  given  a  code  to  her  company; 
and  ten  articles,  dictated  by  her  and  approved  by  the  King, 
laid  it  down  that  in  order  to  be  admitted  as  an  associate, 
one  had  to  prove  that  it  was  not  the  first  time  one  had 
acted  in  comedy;  that  everyone  must  define  his  line  of 
business;   that  one  could   not,   without  having  obtained 
the  consent  of  his  colleagues,  take  a  different  line  from 
that  for  which  one  had  been  accepted;  but  no  associate 
could  refuse  a  part  suitable  to  him,  on  the  excuse  that  it 
would   give  him  scanty  opportunity;  that  the  actresses 
alone  would  enjoy  the  right  of  choosing  the  pieces  to  be 
performed ;  that  they  would,  likewise,  have  the  right  of 
fixing  the   date   of   the  performance,   and   deciding   the 
number  of  rehearsals,  and  the  day  and  hour  when  these 
should  take  place.    The  regulations  further  declared  that 
every  actor  was  bound  to  appear  at  the  exact  time  fixed 
for  rehearsal,  under  penalty  of  a  fine,  which  the  actresses 
alone  would  settle;  that  to  the  actresses  only  would  the 
half -hour's  grace  be  accorded,  after  which  the  fine  they 
might  have  incurred  would  be   decided   by  themselves. 
Finally,  the  theatre  of  the  Cabinets  had  its  tickets.    On  a 
card,   as   big   as   a   playing-card,  upon  which  the   word 
Parade  was  written,  the  witty  pencil  of  Cochin  had  drawn 
a  columbine  upon  a  puppet-stage,  her  dress  adorned  with 
ribands,  like  the  dress  of  Silvia  in  the  portrait  of  Latour ; 


224  These  Splendid  Women 

she  minces  astonishment,  and  flirts  her  fan,  whilst  beside 
her,  Leandre,  in  ruffs,  his  arm  upon  the  balustrade,  de- 
clares his  love  to  her,  under  the  nose  of  Pierrot,  who 
thrusts  his  head  through  the  curtain  behind :  this  was 
the  gallant  voucher,  the  "open  sesame"  of  Madame  de 
Pompadour's  theatre. 

This  theatre,  the  performances  of  which  succeeded  one 
another  without  any  interruptions  save  those  caused  by 
the  King's  hunting  expeditions,  became  almost  a  govern- 
ment at  Versailles.  It  was  not  long  in  attracting  the 
whole  attention  of  the  court  to  it,  and  all  the  ardor  of 
the  courtiers.  In  putting  into  the  King's  hands  a  direction 
which  amused  him,  it  put  into  the  hands  of  the  favorite 
a  fresh  source  of  favor,  and  a  new  opportunity  for 
domination.  The  list  of  admittances  was  surrounded 
and  besieged  by  ambitions  and  solicitations  as  keen  as 
those  round  the  list  of  benefices;  and  this  intimate 
approach  to  the  King,  which  was  at  the  disposal  of  the 
favorite,  brought  her  an  influence,  hidden  from  the  pub- 
lic, but  real,  effective,  and  increasing.  The  public,  care- 
fully chosen  from  the  whole  of  Versailles,  was  small, 
select,  and  devoted  to  the  mistress.  The  nucleus  of  it  was 
formed  by  her  family,  her  friends,  by  what  might  be 
termed  her  court:  her  brother,  Vandieres,  her  uncle, 
Tournehem,  the  Marechal  de  Saxe,  the  two  Champcenets, 
Madame  d'Estrades,  Madame  du  Roure.  IMadame  de 
Pompadour  also  admitted  the  actors,  who  had  their  entree 
to  the  entertainment,  whether  they  played  or  not,  and 
the  actresses,  who,  when  they  were  not  playing,  were 
accommodated  in  the  stage-box,  in  which  Madame  de 
Pompadour  reserved  two  seats,  one  of  which  was  always 
given  to  her  friend,  the  Marechale  de  Mirepoix.  The 
favorite  also  bestowed  the  honor  and  satisfaction  of 
admissions  upon  the  authors  whose  works  were  repre- 
sented on  the  stage  of  the  Cabinets,  and  the  composer  had 
the  right  of  marking  the  time  of  his  music  to  the  orches- 
tra.    Often  enough  she  dropped  an  invitation  upon  the 


These  Splendid  Women  225 

younger  Coigny,  the  Marquis  de  Gontaud,  Querchy,  the 
Abbe  de  Bernis. 

In  the  midst  of  these  pleasures,  and  by  means  of  these 
same  pleasures,  Madame  de  Pompadour  waxed  greater 
and  enlarged  the  radius  of  her  power.  Each  day  saw 
her  drawing  nearer  to  royalty,  affecting  a  more  assured 
tone  of  authority,  and  playing  more  seriously  with  the 
exercise  of  sovereignty.  One  day,  when  M.  de  Maurepas 
happened  to  be  with  the  King,  Madame  de  Pompadour 
asked  that  a  lettre  de  cachet  should  be  cancelled.  "Mon- 
sieur must  return,"  and  turning  to  the  minister,  she  gives 
him  the  order  in  the  King's  name;  and  as  Maurepas  ob- 
jects :  "His  Majesty  must  command  it.  .  .  ."  "Do 
zvhat  Madame  wishes/'  says  Louis  XV.  Furious  at  this 
omnipotence,  at  such  a  taking  possession  of  the  King's 
will,  at  this  power  which  goes  on  acquiring  strength, 
which  nothing  can  shake,  not  even  songs,  Maurepas  lost 
all  reserve.  His  rashness  and  his  indiscretion  could  no 
longer  be  contained ;  his  wit,  to  which  he  gave  loose  rein, 
burst  out  in  insults,  and  his  muse  indulged  in  those  bru- 
talities which  strike  a  woman  in  her  weakness  and  out- 
rage her  in  her  sex.  After  a  supper-party  in  the  cabinets, 
between  the  King,  the  Comtesse  d'Estrades,  Madame  de 
Pompadour  and  Maurepas,  the  minister  uttered  the  cruel 
and  famous  allusion  to  the  bouquet  of  white  hyacinths 
which  Madame  de  Pompadour  had  pulled  to  pieces  during 
supper  and  scattered  beneath  her  shoes.  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  demanding  vengeance  and  failing  to  obtain 
it,  finished  by  seeking  the  minister  and  asked  him  "what 
if  he  knew  the  author  of  the  songs?" — "When  I  know 
him,"  replied  Maurepas,  "I  will  tell  the  King."  "Mon- 
sieur," retorted  the  Marquise,  "you  make  mighty  small  ac- 
count of  the  King's  mistresses."  To  which,  Maurepas, 
without  troubling  himself  :  "I  have  always  respected  them, 
whatever  sort  they  were,"  and  he  accentuated  the  in- 
solence of  the  phrase  with  a  look. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  interview  at  the  Marechal  de 


226  These  Splendid  Women 

Villars',  being  complimented  on  the  flattering  visit  he  had 
received  that  morning:  "Yes,"  he  replied,  "that  of  the 
Marquise.  It  will  bring  her  misfortune.  I  remember 
that  Madame  de  Mailly  also  came  to  see  me,  two  days 
before  she  was  dismissed  by  Madame  de  Chateauroux.  I 
bring  misfortune  to  them  all."  Madame  de  Pompadour 
hastened  to  carry  off  the  King,  and  during  an  expedition 
to  the  little  Chateau  of  La  Celle,  keeping  the  King  all 
to  herself,  out  of  reach  of  exterior  influences,  away  from 
the  minister,  who  had  gone  to  Mademoiselle  de  Maupeon's 
wedding,  she  spoke  to  her  lover  of  the  insults  put  upon 
his  mistress,  to  the  King  of  the  disrespect  of  his  chief 
servants.  To  the  suspicious  father,  the  Louis  XV.  so 
prone  to  suspicion,  she  depicted  M.  de  Maurepas  as  re- 
sponsible for  the  insurrection  of  the  royal  family  against 
its  head,  as  the  instigator  of  the  songs  and  innuendoes 
circulating  everywhere  against  her  and  against  the  King 
himself.  She  laid  perfidious  stress  on  the  intimacy  of  the 
Dauphin  with  M.  de  IMaurepas.  All,  however,  would  have 
failed,  perhaps,  but  for  a  stroke  of  cunning  which  flashed 
through  Madame  de  Pompadour's  head  like  an  inspira- 
tion: she  set  to  work  to  weary  the  King  with  pretended 
fears  of  having  been  poisoned  by  Maurepas.  She  in- 
cessantly repeated  to  him  that  she  would  perish  by  the 
hand  which  had  caused  the  so  opportune  disappearance 
of  Madame  de  Chateauroux.  She  carried  the  comedy  and 
her  feigned  terror  so  far  as  to  wish  to  have  a  surgeon 
sleeping  near  her  apartment,  and  antidotes  within  her 
reach.  And  she  filled  the  King's  soul  with  such  dreads, 
that  she  snatched  from  him  a  desire,  and,  as  it  were,  a 
coup  d'etat  of  fear :  Maurepas  was  exiled.  But,  on  leav- 
ing for  Bourges,  with  that  smile  which  is  the  mask  of  his 
whole  life,  Maurepas  bequeathed  to  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour the  enmity  of  his  colleague  d'Argenson.  The  latter 
was  a  foe  of  another  sort ;  he  had  darker  passions,  a  colder 
soul,  graver  hates. 

At  last  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  reigned,  and  her 


These  Splendid  Women  227 

tone  was  adapted  to  the  superb  insolence  of  her  fortune. 
She  endeavoured  to  drop  upon  all  the  projects  and  peti- 
tions a  royal:  ''We  zM  sec/'  She  said  already  to  the 
ministers:  "Proceed,  I  am  pleased  with  you;  you  know 
that  I  have  long  been  your  friend."  To  the  ambassadors 
she  said  again :  "For  several  Tuesdays  the  King  will  be 
unable  to  see  you,  gentlemen,  for  I  suppose  you  would  not 
come  to  look  for  us  at  Compiegne."  And  she  accustomed 
her  mouth  and  the  court  to  that  We,  which  put  the  royal 
utterance  on  her  lips,  and  was,  as  it  were,  the  half  of 
royalty.  Her  apartment  at  Versailles,  on  the  ground  floor, 
was  the  royal  apartment  of  the  Montespan.  The  utmost 
etiquette  prevailed  there,  the  traditions  of  which  the 
Marquise  had  sought  for  in  the  manuscripts  of  the 
memoriahsts  of  the  court  of  Louis  XIV. :  a  single  arm- 
chair forewarned  all  to  remain  standing  before  the  en- 
throned favorite ;  and  there  was  found  in  that  humbled 
Versailles,  but  one  man  to  seat  himself  on  the  arm  of 
that  chair,  that  frank  and  brave  courtier,  with  so  much 
heart  and  so  much  wit,  daring  and  saying  everything,  the 
Marquise  de  Souvre,  the  last  King's  jester  of  the  mon- 
archy. Madame  de  Pompadour's  carriage  had  the  velvet 
cap  and  ducal  mantle  on  the  arms.  It  was  a  gentleman,  a 
gentleman  belonging  to  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  Guy- 
enne,  snatched  from  penury,  who  bore  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour's cloak  upon  his  arm,  followed  at  the  door  of 
her  sedan-chair,  and  waited  for  her  to  come  out  in  the 
antechamber.  Her  butler,  Collin,  she  had  not  thought 
worthy  to  hold  the  napkin  behind  her  who  wore  the  cross 
of  Saint  Louis  upon  her  breast.  And  as  though  her 
pride  passed  the  bounds  of  her  life  and  must  accompany 
her  in  death,  she  bought  a  vault  from  the  Cregni  family,  at 
the  Capucines  of  the  Place  Vendome,  where  she  had  the 
body  of  her  mother  conveyed  and  prepared  a  magnificent 
mausoleum  for  herself.  In  this  majesty  of  scandal,  in  this 
huge  enjoyment  of  favour,  in  the  midst  of  this  prosperity 
and  these  delights,  loaded  with  riches,  bounded  by  that 


228  These  Splendid  Women 

horizon  of  splendours  which  starts,  around  her  and  within 
her  scope,  with  the  suite  of  furniture  which  is  the  envy 
and  admiration  of  Europe,  Madame  de  Pompadour 
dreams  of  raising  her  family  to  her  own  level.  She  de- 
sires her  kinsmen  to  follow  her  and  gravitate  in  the  orb 
of  her  greatness.  She  wishes  the  obscurity  of  her  birth 
to  be  obliterated  beneath  the  titles  and  offices  of  those 
to  whom  she  belongs,  and  her  blood  to  be  so  exalted  in 
that  court  that  she  need  no  longer  remember  she  ever 
blushed  for  it.  She  hides  her  father  in  the  lordship  of 
Marigny,  which  she  buys  from  the  confraternity  of  Saint- 
Come.  For  her  brother  she  obtains  the  captaincy  of 
Crenelle,  with  the  revenue  of  a  hundred  thousand  livres 
attached  to  it,  and  covers  his  name  with  the  Marquisate 
of  Vandieres.  But  what  different  projects,  ambitions  how 
far  more  impudent  occupy  the  maternal  vanity  of  Madame 
de  Pompadour!  What  dreams  for  the  future  hover  over 
the  head  of  that  fair  young  girl,  her  daughter  and  her 
portrait :  Alexandrine  d'fitioles,  who  is  growing  up  in  the 
Convent  of  the  Assumption,  where  she  attracts  the  great- 
est heiresses  in  the  kingdom,  eager  to  form  a  friendship 
which  may,  later  on,  become  a  protection.  Madame  de 
Pompadour's  daughter  is  brought  up  like  a  princess ;  like 
princesses,  she  only  calls  herself  by  her  Christian  name; 
and  her  mother  has  nurtured  her  vanity  so  v/ell  that  she 
disputes  precedence  with  Mademoiselle  de  Soubise.  The 
Marquise,  dreaming  of  a  duchy  of  Maine  for  her,  had  sent 
one  day,  in  her  fig-garden  at  Bellevue,  for  a  handsome 
child,  who  in  his  face,  gestures,  attitudes  was  the  living 
portrait  of  the  King  his  father :  this  child  was  the  Comte 
de  Luc,  the  son  of  Louis  XV.  and  Madame  de  Vintimille. 
Madame  de  Pompadour  sought  to  interest  the  King  in  the 
union  of  these  two  beautiful  children,  and  endeavoured 
to  turn  the  King's  softened  mind  towards  that  pretty 
castle  in  the  air,  a  family  in  which  the  likeness  of  grand- 
father and  grandmother  should  be  reunited,  a  race  to 
smile  on  their  old  age  and  speak  to  every  eye,  a  race 


These  Splendid  Women  229 

which  should  mingle  the  blood  of  Louis  and  the  Pom- 
padour. But  the  King  remained  cold  to  this  project;  and 
Madame  de  Pompadour  fell  back  upon  an  alliance  with 
the  Due  de  Fronsac,  the  son  of  the  Marechal  de  Richelieu. 
Good  courtier  as  Richelieu  was,  however  submissive  his 
pride  to  his  ambition,  he  was  almost  wounded  at  the 
honour  the  Marquise  would  do  him,  and  answered  her 
ironically,  "that  he  was  most  flattered  by  her  choice,  but 
that  his  son,  on  his  mother's  side,  had  the  honour  of 
belonging  to  the  princes  of  the  House  of  Lorraine,  and 
that  he  was  compelled  to  ask  their  consent."  These 
two  checks  did  not  discourage  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
and  caused  her  to  abate  no  whit  of  her  pretensions.  She 
returned  to  another  side  of  the  court,  and  was  almost 
satisfied  at  having  negotiated  the  marriage  of  Alexandrine 
with  the  Due  de  Chaulnes,  who  was  to  bring  three  millions 
into  the  family  he  entered,  when  a  chill,  caught  at 
Benediction  in  the  Convent  of  the  Assumption,  degen- 
erating into  virulent  small-pox,  robbed  her  of  this  child 
of  her  hopes,  and  left  only  a  brother  and  a  father  for 
the  ambition  of  her  affections. 

But  what  could  or  would  Madame  de  Pompadour  do 
for  her  father,  beyond  hiding  him  and  keeping  him  in 
the  second  plan  of  favour,  in  one  of  those  satisfied  ob- 
scurities, one  of  those  positions  of  gratified  and  un- 
assuming ease  in  which  courtesans  bury  out  of  modesty 
a  father  without  prejudices? 

The  paternal  Poisson  appears,  from  the  few  coarse 
traits  which  history  has  retained  of  him,  as  the  type  of 
a  subordinate  tax-farmer,  vulgarising  in  his  gross  and 
robust  person,  the  wit,  the  scepticism,  the  tastes,  the 
vices,  even  the  very  insolence  of  the  great  financiers  of 
the  day.  It  is  a  gross  man,  full  of  wine,  of  blood  and 
wine,  fired  and  disordered  by  debauchery,  drunken  and 
dubious,  who  steeps  the  scandal  he  causes  in  his  cynicism, 
and  in  that  head  of  his,  which  has  interviewed  the  gallows, 
nurses  the  theories  and  morals  of  a  Neveu  de  Rameau. 


230  These  Splendid  Women 

Joyous,  mocking  and  brutal,  set  squarely,  hat  on  head, 
in  the  impunity  of  his  fortune,  and  the  disgrace  of  his 
pensions,  he  laughs  at  everything  with  a  shameless  irony 
and  a  crude  speech ;  he  reminds  his  daughter's  lackeys  of 
his  title  of  father  in  language  that  can  not  be  quoted ;  he 
escapes  from  the  contempt  of  others  by  flaunting  the 
contempt  he  has  for  himself ;  he  enforces  his  commands 
on  the  Pompadour,  wrests  favours  from  her,  through  the 
intimidation  his  sight  causes,  and  his  threats  of  a  dis- 
turbance; and  it  is  he  who,  one  night  in  the  middle  of 
a  supper-party,  bursting  into  a  peal  of  laughter  which 
checks  the  orgy,  shouts  at  his  fellow-guests,  shouts  at 
Montmartel,  in  tones  as  crushing  as  a  blow  from  a  fist: 
"You,  Monsieur  de  Montmartel,  are  the  son  of  an  inn- 
keeper. .  .  .  You,  Monsieur  de  Savalette,  the  son 
of  a  vinegar-maker.  .  .  .  You,  Bourret,  the  son  of 
a  lackey.  .  .  .  What  I  am?.  .  .  .  Who  is  there 
does  not  know?" 

A  very  different  man,  a  perfectly  presentable  relation, 
was  Madame  de  Pompadour's  brother.  He  derived  noth- 
ing from  his  father,  neither  in  character  nor  in  face. 
Before  he  grew  fat,  he  was  his  sister's  equal  in  beauty, 
in  that  smiling,  and,  as  it  were,  princely  beauty,  which 
we  see  in  Tocque's  portrait.  He  was  elegant,  graceful, 
finely  built,  of  noble  manners;  in  brief,  graced  with  all 
the  externals  which  put  a  man  in  his  place  in  the  ele- 
gant court  of  Louis  XV.  The  King  liked  him ;  admitted 
him  to  his  tete-a-tete  suppers  with  Madame  De  Pompa- 
dour, called  him  by  the  name  of  "little  brother''  He  was 
successful,  he  pleased;  he  was  neither  exacting  nor  com- 
promising; finally,  he  was  entirely  devoted  to  his  sister. 
Nevertheless,  in  this  brother  so  well  endowed,  so  happily 
adapted  to  the  position  of  the  favourite,  forming  such  a 
contrast  to  the  unworthy  and  compromising  father,  there 
existed  an  unfortunate  quality  which  chilled  Madame  de 
Pompadour's  good  will  by  thwarting  the  dreams  of  her 
vanity  and  the  ambitions  of  her  affection.     Madame  de 


These  Splendid  Women  231 

Pompadour's  brother,  brought  up  and  trained  by  the 
paternal  Poisson  to  be  excessively  distrustful  of  himself, 
was  modest  to  the  point  of  shyness ;  he  had  that  bashful- 
ness  which  deprives  ambition  of  assurance  as  it  deprives 
the  countenance  of  ease;  and  he  himself  recalled  with  a 
charming  naivete,  his  embarrassment  when,  being  quite 
young,  he  could  not  drop  his  handkerchief  in  the  gallery 
of  Versailles  without  seeing  in  a  moment  the  skilled  cooks 
grovelling  and  disputing  for  the  honor  of  picking  it  up. 
These  were  weaknesses  too  ridiculous  in  such  a  land,  at 
court,  not  to  be  railed  at  and  calumniated.  The  shyness 
of  Madame  de  Pompadour's  brother  was  voted  nullity  by 
all  the  courtiers;  and  there  were  not  jests  enough  at 
Versailles  against  the  Marquis  ''Day-be fore-Yesterday/' 
flouted  in  the  song: 

Qu'  ebloui  par  un  vain  eclat, 
Poisson  tranche  du  petit  maitre    ; 
Qu'il  pense  qu'  a  la  cour  un  fat 
Soit  difficile  a  reconnoitre    : 
Ah!  le  voila,  ah!  le  voicy 
Celui  qui  n'en  a  nul  souci. 

These  laughs,  which  cut  the  Marquise  to  the  quick,  ex- 
cited her  self-conceit  against  the  brother  who  did  not  take 
his  marquisate  as  seriously  as  she  could  have  wished,  and 
seemed  to  encourage  the  laughers  by  his  philosophy  and 
absent-minded  ways.  She  endeavored  to  shake  him  up, 
to  inspire  him;  she  tormented  and  urged  him  to  seek 
places,  honors,  aggrandizement,  but  was  unsuccessful  in 
rousing  him  from  that  sort  of  sluggishness  of  soul,  and 
moderation  of  desires  which  made  him  ten  times  during 
his  life  refuse  to  become  minister.  She  sent  him  on  a 
visit  to  Italy  with  a  host  of  historians,  painters,  draughts- 
men, governors.  On  the  death  of  Lenormand  de  Tourne- 
hem,  she  pushed  him  into  the  position  of  general  director 
of  buildings,  gardens,  arts,  manufactures;  that  direction 
of  art  in  which  the  brother  of  the  Marquise  becomes, 
according  to  the  expression  of  a  contemporary,  arbiter 


232  These  Splendid  Women 

elegantiarum,  and  creates  a  new  knowledge  and  a  new 
taste  in  art  by  the  internal  arrangement  of  apartments, 
their  architecture  and  decoration.  And  none  the  less,  the 
sure  tact,  the  rare  style,  all  the  zeal  that  he  brings  to  this 
ministry  of  the  ideal,  and  of  the  industry  of  France,  the 
most  able  management,  the  most  generous  and  sympa- 
thetic government  of  the  things  and  world  of  art  do  not 
disarm  the  preconceived  judgment  of  the  court,  and  the 
injustice  of  opinion  towards  the  man  of  whom  Quesnay, 
a  judge  by  no  means  to  be  accused  of  partiality,  said: 
"He  is  a  man  very  little  known;  no  one  speaks  of  his 
wit  and  his  knowledge,  nor  of  all  he  has  done  for  the 
advancement  of  the  arts ;  nobody,  since  Colbert,  has  done 
as  much  in  his  place ;  he  is,  moreover,  a  perfectly  honest 
man,  but  people  will  only  see  in  him  the  brother  of  the 
favourite,  and  because  he  is  stout,  deem  him  heavy  and 
dull  of  wit." 

But  if  Madame  de  Pompadour  was  humiliated  to  see 
her  brother  thus  misconstrued,  she  was  wounded  and  in 
despair  at  seeing  him  unmarried,  an  obstinate  bachelor. 
A  great  and  magnificent  marriage  for  her  brother,  which 
would  prevent  her  from  dying  altogether,  and  by  carrying 
on  her  fortune  in  a  family  of  her  blood,  hand  down  to 
nephews  the  inheritance  of  her  opulence  and  her  pride, 
was  the  hope  to  which  the  Marquise  clung  after  the  death 
of  her  daughter  Alexandrine.  And  the  grief  she  felt  at 
being  disappointed  in  this  last  dream,  the  sorrow  caused 
her  by  the  refusals  and  resistance  of  her  brother,  are 
clearly  depicted  in  the  following  confidential  letter  to  her 
father,  curious,  from  the  vivacity  with  which  the  Marquise 
defends  herself  against  the  charge  of  being  insatiable  for 
her  family :  "I  know,  my  dear  father,  of  many  red  rib- 
ands promised,  and  much  doubt,  therefore,  whether  it  be 
possible  to  obtain  one  for  M.  de  Petit;  there  has  never 
been  any  question  of  the  provost-ship  of  Paris  for  my 
brother,  neither  he  nor  I  have  funds  to  dispose  of.  This 
office  is  very  dear,  brings  in  little,  and  would  not  make 


These  Splendid  Women  233 

him  a  greater  noble  than  he  is,  but  it  is  very  certain  that 
everything  that  is  vacant  will  be  attributed  to  him  by  the 
public,  it  has  become  accustomed  to  people  who  are  in- 
satiable; I  should  be  sorely  displeased  to  have  this 
infamous  character,  or  that  my  brother  should  have  it. 
I  am  very  vexed  that  he  will  not  marry,  he  will  never 
find  a  match  like  the  one  I  hoped  to  arrange  for  him.  I 
am  delighted  that  you  amuse  yourself  as  Crecy;  stay 
there,  my  dear  father,  as  long  as  the  place  suits  you,  and 
believe  in  my  tender  attachment." 

The  years  glided  away,  without  reconciling  the  Marquis 
de  Vandieres,  now  the  Marquis  de  Marigny,  to  the  proj- 
ects of  the  Marquise.  And  satisfied  with  the  present, 
glutted  with  honors  and  riches,  detached  from  the  court 
which  he  did  not  like,  glad  to  live  at  his  ease,  gently 
rocked  by  the  facile  graces  of  life,  in  that  world  of  artists 
which  he  had  made  his  world,  he  would  not  consent  to 
stake  his  happiness,  his  friendships,  his  indolence  and  his 
pleasant  freedom  against  the  noblest  alliance ;  and  he  drove 
the  Marquise  to  despair  with  the  final  impenitence  of  his 
epicurean  wisdom. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  benefits  lavished  upon  her 
family,  all  the  fortunes  she  built  up  around  her,  the 
favorite  was  urging  on  her  private  fortune  and  raising 
it  to  a  royal  opulence.  She  amassed  possessions  and 
castles,  and  attained  such  a  vast  ownership  of  estates  and 
houses  as  no  other  mistress  had  ever  ventured  to  dream  of. 
In  1746,  she  bought  from  the  farmer-general,  Rousset, 
the  estate  of  La  Celle,  which  cost  her  155,000  livres,  and 
for  which  she  abandoned  Alontretout.  The  same  year  she 
bought  the  estate  of  Crecy.  In  1747,  she  paid  100,000 
crowns  for  a  hotel  at  Fontainebleau.  She  united  the 
estate  of  Crecy  with  the  estate  of  Aulnay,  for  which 
she  paid  400,000  livres;  in  1750,  she  acquired  Brim- 
borion,  below  Bellevue.  In  1752,  she  bought  the  estate 
of  Saint-Remy,  adjoining  the  estate  of  Crecy,  and  a 
hotel,  for  100,000  crowns,  at  Compiegne.     On  April  1st 


234  These  Splendid  Women 

of  1753,  she  bought  the  magnificent  Hotel  of  the  Comte 
d':fivreux,  on  the  Champs-£:lysees,  at  a  price  of  800,000 
livres.  And  to  all  these  purchases  must  be  added  the 
Hermitage  of  Fontainebleau,  the  Hermitage  of  Versailles, 
the  Chateau  of  Meudon,  and,  finally,  Bellevue.  But  the 
sales-money  was  not  the  heaviest  item  in  the  expense 
of  these  acquisitions.  No  sooner  was  the  land  acquired, 
than  money  poured  in  upon  it.  A  whole  colony  of  paint- 
ers, workers  in  marble,  sculptors,  gilders,  metal-workers, 
potters,  joiners,  florists,  and  gardeners,  swooped  down 
upon  each  new  domain  of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and  re- 
molding it,  as  her  tastes,  her  caprices,  her  follies  ordered, 
cast  into  the  estate  of  La  Celle,  68,114  livres;  into  Crecy 
and  D'Aulnay,  3,947,264  livres;  into  the  Hotel  at  Com- 
piegne,  30,242;  Pompadour,  28,000;  into  the  Hermitage 
of  Fontainebleau,  216,382;  into  the  Hermitage  of  Ver- 
sailles, 283,013;  into  the  Hotel  d':£vreux,  95,169;  and  into 
Bellevue  2,526,927  livres.  From  this  vast  prodigality, 
which  raised  the  cost  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  France 
to  more  than  thirty-six  millions,  from  all  this  money 
lavished  without  reckoning  on  these  dwelling-places  of  a 
luxury,  an  elegance,  and  an  artistic  taste  hitherto  un- 
known, there  rose  those  pleasure-palaces  of  the  favorite, 
of  which  Bellevue  was  the  admirable  example. 

That  small  and  delicious  model  of  a  royal  chateau,  that 
museum  of  French  art  created  by  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
and  filled  with  her  inspiration,  Bellevue,  sprang  from  the 
earth  as  if  by  magic.  Struck  by  the  extent  and  beauty 
of  the  view,  when  accidentally  passing  those  hills  which 
seem  a  natural  terrace,  the  foot  of  which  is  bathed  by  the 
Seine,  Madame  de  Pompadour  made  an  appointment  with 
two  architects,  L'Assurance  and  DTsle,  and  there,  on  the 
territory  of  her  dream,  seated  on  a  rustic  operatic  throne 
improvised  out  of  grass  and  stones,  she  drew  out  her  plan, 
marked  the  site  of  the  buildings,  and  traced  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  gardens.  The  first  blow  of  the  pick  was 
struck  on  the  30th  June  1748,  and  the  works  were  carried 


These  Splendid  Women  235 

on  so  energetically  that  the  inauguration  was  able  to  take 
place  on  2nd  December  1750,  in  the  presence  of  the  King, 
with  a  charming  ballet.  Love  the  Architect,  in  which  one 
saw  a  mountain,  the  Mountain  in  Labour  of  La  Fontaine, 
delivered  of  the  Chateau  of  Bellevue,  while  on  the  Belle- 
vue  road,  one  of  those  carriages  known  as  pots  de  chambre 
was  upset,  and  tumbled  upon  the  stage  a  basket  full  of 
women,  a  ballet  and  dancers.  The  principal  wing  of  the 
chateau  had  only  nine  windows,  according  to  the  expressed 
desire  of  the  King.  It  displayed  on  the  exterior,  marble 
busts  attached  in  the  interspaces.  The  antechamber  was 
adorned  with  two  statues  upon  which  the  chisels  of  Fal- 
connet  and  of  Adam  had  vied  with  one  another.  In  the 
dining-room  Oudry  had  painted  the  accessories  of  hunting 
and  fishing,  and  these  were  repeated  on  the  wood-work  by 
the  fine  carvings  of  Verbreck.  Six  paintings  by  Vanloo, 
Comedy  and  Tragedy,  lined  the  walls  of  the  reception- 
room.  A  gallery,  in  which  Love  smiled  in  the  marble  of 
Saly,  led  to  the  music-room,  of  which  the  door-panels 
were  signed  by  Pierre.  Next  came  the  King's  apartment, 
painted  by  Vanloo,  and  separated  from  the  apartment  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour  by  a  boudoir  in  chintz,  decorated 
in  gold,  enlivened  by  two  Chinese  landscapes  from  the 
brush  and  invention  of  Boucher.  The  elder  Brunetti  had 
painted  the  staircase,  and  his  decorative  genius  had 
wrought,  in  the  mass  of  a  noble  architecture  extending 
to  the  first  floor,  the  ladder  of  Olympus,  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne,  Zephyrus  and  Flora,  Diana  and  Endymion. 
Boulogne  and  Vernet  had  brougth  their  names  and  efforts 
to  the  paintings  in  the  apartment  of  the  Dauphin  and 
Dauphine ;  for  the  chateau  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  con- 
tained an  apartment  for  the  Dauphin  and  Dauphine. 
Next  came  the  great  curiosity  and  glory  of  Bellevue, 
the  gallery  conceived  and  designed  by  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour in  person,  a  gallery,  throughout  the  whole  length 
of  which  garlands  of  an  amazing  delicacy,  carved  by 
Verbreck  and  daintily  painted  by  Dinaut  and  Du  Fort, 


236  These  Splendid  Women 

formed  a  frame  to  some  of  the  prettiest  of  Boucher's 
pictures,  to  which  the  texture  of  the  furniture  seemed  a 
harmonious  echo.  The  brush  of  Perrot  had  caught  up 
there,  with  an  exquisite  art,  the  gaieties  of  colour,  the 
froHc  hght,  the  rural  and  bedizened  allegories  cast  upon 
the  walls  by  the  painter.  In  that  Bellevue  everything  was 
in  harmony;  and  in  those  painted  saloons,  gilded  and 
splendid,  or  through  those  gardens,  grottoes,  those  alleys 
which  sloped  down  so  pleasantly,  beside  those  living  and, 
as  it  were,  truant  waters,  in  the  arbour  by  the  waterfall, 
the  green  arbours,  the  arbours  where  the  trees  formed 
canopies,  which  were  known  as  the  Rond  de  Sevres^  the 
avenues  of  sycamores  from  Lebanon,  and  poplars  from 
Lombardy,  beside  the  two  nymphs  of  Pigalle,  the  pedes- 
trian statue  of  Louis  XV.  in  Genoa  marble,  or  the  marble 
Apollo  of  Couston,  there  came  and  went,  passed  and 
strolled,  a  whole  world  dressed  in  the  livery  of  the  Cha- 
teau, and  after  the  fantasy  of  the  place:  the  men  wore 
coats  of  purple  cloth,  embroidered  with  golden  borders, 
with  vests  of  grey  satin  worked  with  a  design  traced 
in  purple,  and  fringed  with  four  inches  of  dead  gold  em- 
broidery; the  women  were  clad  in  dresses  similar  to  the 
vests  of  the  men.  And  what  uniform  were  better  fitted 
for  that  palace  of  enchantment  where,  presently,  in  full 
winter,  the  Marquise  is  to  astonish  the  King  with  that 
unheard-of  and  prodigious  flower-bed,  all  the  flowers  of 
spring,  all  the  sweet-smelling  flowers  of  summer,  living 
almost — a  flower-bed  in  perfumed  porcelain  of   Sevres. 

This  imagination  of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  a  real 
imagination  of  Armides,  did  not  confine  itself  to  the  fair 
domain  she  had  created;  she  remoulded  and  added  fresh 
decorations  to  the  chateaux  where  the  King  received  her, 
and  repaid  him  with  the  hospitality  of  Bellevue. 

Choisy,  which  belonged  to  the  King,  became,  as  it  were, 
her  property,  owing  to  all  the  embellishments  she  brought 
to  it,  all  the  expenses  incurred  at  her  command.  From 
small  matters  to  great,  all  the  luxury  of  the  Chateau, 


These  Splendid  Women  237 

all  that  was  beautiful  in  the  life  of  Choisy  belonged  to 
her,  and  exhibited  in  its  least  details  the  delicacy  of 
her  inventiveness;  was  it  not  she  who  devised  that  castle 
of  faery,  in  which  the  mechanical  table  invented  by  her 
in  collaboration  with  the  engineer,  the  model  of  which 
was  sold  at  the  Marquis  de  Menars'  sale,  the  table  of 
Loriot  supplied  the  King  with  a  pin  for  which  he  had 
asked,  with  verses  by  Lanjou? 

Where  Madame  de  Pompadour  endeavoured  and  suc- 
ceeded was  in  bringing  change  and  contrast  to  all  these 
retreats  which  afforded  the  King's  ennui  the  distraction 
of  a  lucky-box.  When  he  was  weary  of  Bellevue  and 
Choisy,  she  received  him  at  the  pretty  Hermitage  of 
Versailles,  where  all  was  countrified,  where  the  house 
looked  on  nothing  but  sheep-folds,  where  the  gardens, 
free  of  the  pomp  and  monotony  of  French  gardens,  were 
all  myrtle-bowers,  shrubberies  of  roses,  rustic  hiding- 
places  for  Love's  statue,  fields  of  daffodils,  pinks,  violets, 
tuberoses,  embalming  the  air  with  nature's  own  perfumes. 
It  was  there  that,  renewing  her  beauty,  she  revived  the 
King's  fancy  by  the  changes  and  disguises  of  her  person, 
now  appearing  to  him  in  the  dress  of  the  Sultana  of 
Vanloo,  now  dawning  upon  him  as  a  fair  gardener,  in  the 
costume  which  has  been  handed  down  to  us,  said  by  her 
to  be  her  best  likeness — her  head  covered  by  a  straw  hat 
lined  with  blue,  with  that  blue,  her  favourite  color,  which 
was  the  cause  of  all  blue  garments  being  christened  "the 
Marquise's  clothes";  her  left  arm  passed  through  the 
handle  of  a  basket  of  flowers,  her  right  hand  holding  a 
spray  of  hyacinths.  Or  again,  she  would  charm  the 
King's  eyes  with  a  dress,  the  conception  and  pattern  of 
which  she  had  found  in  a  gallant  assembly  of  Watteau, 
an  ideal  undress,  since  dubbed  a  neglige  a  la  Pompadour: 
imagine  a  sort  of  Turkish  vest,  tight  round  the  neck, 
buttoned  at  the  wrist,  plastic  to  the  bust,  clinging  round 
the  hips,  revealing  all  that  it  left  visible  and  suggesting 
all  that  it  hid. 


238  These  Splendid  Women 

None  the  less,  in  spite  of  all  these  seductions  and  this 
perpetual  bewitching  of  the  King's  senses  and  his  love, 
the  favourite  was  obliged  each  day  to  dispute  and  regain 
her  power.  Its  exercise,  its  maintenance,  and  its  aug- 
mentation was  a  laborious  and  incessant  conquest.  The 
effort  of  a  perpetual  battle,  the  tension  of  a  sleepless 
activity,  the  constant  labor  of  the  head,  a  daily  com- 
bination of  intrigues,  subterfuges  and  countermines  was 
necessary  to  keep  Madame  de  Pompadour  enthroned  in 
her  slippery  greatness,  and  in  that  high  estate  so  envied 
and  attacked,  so  beset  with  traps  and  snares,  assaulted 
by  ambition  and  treason ;  a  cloud  of  favour  at  the  mercy 
of  a  breath,  a  caprice,  a  storm,  or  a  pin-stab.  To  possess 
the  King,  occupy  his  ennui,  startle  and  amuse  him  by 
change  of  scene  and  the  element  of  surprise  in  his 
pleasures;  when  ill,  and  restricted  to  a  milk  diet,  to  go 
abroad  and  sup,  to  remain  beautiful  and  find  factitious 
strength  to  keep  beauty  and  freshness  amid  fatigue,  this 
was  the  favourite's  easiest  task.  What  was  that  beside 
the  most  exhausting  part  of  her  role,  the  hardest  expiation 
of  her  rule:  to  be  every  moment  on  the  watch,  to  divine 
the  menace  of  a  smile,  and  the  danger  lurking  in  success, 
to  surmount  the  indolence  and  indisposition  of  body  and 
mind,  to  oppose  a  resistance  to  all  who  surrounded  the 
King,  to  all  who  approached  him,  to  hidden  enemies, 
secret  plots,  to  the  Royal  family,  the  ministry,  the  rivals 
which  start  up,  the  perils  which  are  unmasked! 

The  light  sceptre  of  a  King's  mistress,  the  government 
of  favours  and  the  command  of  pleasures  no  longer  suf- 
ficed Madame  de  Pompadour.  She  dreamed  of  surviving 
herself,  and,  wishing  to  figure  beyond  the  fleeting  moment 
in  the  age  of  Louis  XV.,  all  her  ambitions  were  directed 
to  recommending  the  memory  of  her  name  to  posterity 
by  creations  and  monuments  which  time  respects,  and 
which  seem  to  prolong  the  favour  of  a  favourite  into 
the  future.  This  popularity  which  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour sought  to  attach  to  her  reign,  she  sought  at  the 


These  Splendid  Women  239 

outset,  and  passionately  pursued  in  the  order  of  her 
tastes.  She  created  the  manufactory  of  Sevres,  whose 
products,  endowing  French  industry  with  an  artistic  por- 
celain, were  to  rob  Saxony  of  the  tribute  paid  to  it  by 
Europe,  and  no  longer  to  leave  to  the  foreigners  an 
art,  a  taste,  a  fashion,  an  elegance  which  was  not  a  source 
of  revenue  to  France.  And  was  it  not  a  sore  wound  to 
the  artistic  patriotism  of  the  favourite  to  see  the  whole 
host  of  merchants  and  commissioners  hurrying  to  Dres- 
den, and  disputing  that  porcelain  which  had  deceived  the 
finest  connoisseurs  of  Amsterdam,  and  made  the  King 
of  Poland  resolve  not  to  manufacture  a  single  piece  of 
porcelain  without  his  mark  and  arms?  To  rival,  to  ruin 
Dresden  china  by  a  china  made  in  France  becam.e  the 
Marquise's  fixed  idea.  She  will  not  be  discouraged  by 
the  imperfection  of  the  results,  the  half  success  of  the 
attempts  made  at  Mennecy,  at  Villeroy,  and  at  Chantilly, 
where,  in  spite  of  the  wagons  that  bring  earth  from 
Saxony,  and  the  revelations  as  to  the  methods  of  manu- 
facture made  by  the  Comte  d'Hoyn,  punished  for  his  in- 
discretion with  disgrace,  tHere  issued  from  the  furnaces 
only  pieces  far  inferior,  both  for  the  substance  and  the 
enamelling,  to  the  fine  pieces  of  Saxony. 

The  manufactory  of  Vincennes,  already  transferred  to 
Sevres,  was  installed  by  her  in  the  vast  building,  which 
still  stands  at  the  present  day,  in  spite  of  the  gloomy 
forebodings  of  the  Marquis  d'Argenson.  She  calls  in  the 
chemists,  urges  them  to  fresh  efforts,  new  attempts,  to 
those  trials  and  experiments  with  all  the  clay  in  France, 
which  were  to  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the  Kaolin  of 
Saint- Yriex  in  1765.  A  whole  army  of  skilled  workmen, 
painters  of  flowers  and  landscapes,  sculptors,  is  put  at 
Bachelier's  disposal.  The  Marquise  has  Sevres  proclaimed 
a  royal  factory,  like  the  Savonnerie  and  the  Gobelins,  and 
compels  the  King  to  take  a  third  share  in  the  enterprise. 
She  makes  Sevres  the  habitual  goal  of  her  excursions, 
she  lavishes  her  superintendence,  her  interest,  her  inspira- 


240  These  Splendid  Women 

tion,  the  ideas  or  the  counsels  of  her  fantasy  on  that 
workshop  of  frail  ware  which  was  destined  to  outlive  the 
monarchy.  She  protects  the  establishment,  encourages 
the  artists,  bespeaks  zeal  and  enthusiasm  through  the 
gauntlet  she  flings  down  to  the  King  of  Saxony,  by 
sending  him  a  service  which  she  declared  to  be  superior 
to  any  yet  produced.  She  starts,  in  short,  and  determines 
the  fortune  of  Sevres  ware  by  exhibitions  in  the  Chateau 
of  Versailles,  by  the  warmth  of  her  praise,  the  example 
of  her  custom,  by  all  the  means  that  a  favorite  possesses 
of  imposing  a  new  taste  and  an  unforeseen  expense  upon 
a  court,  by  that  patronage,  the  passion  of  which  is  re- 
vealed to  us  in  one  of  her  sayings:  "Not  to  buy  this 
china,  so  long  as  one  has  any  money,  is  to  prove  oneself 
a  bad  citizen." 

But  there  was  another  creation  to  which  Madame  de 
Pompadour  devoted  herself  even  more  completely,  and 
upon  which  her  ambitions  were  most  heavily  staked.  She 
conceived  the  idea  of  completing  the  noble  conception  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  making  a  pendant  to  the  Invalides  by 
the  foundation  of  a  military  college  which  should  make 
the  King  the  father  of  the  sons  of  soldiers  killed  in  the 
wars  or  ruined  in  the  service.  It  was  a  dream,  which, 
no  sooner  conceived,  became  a  project,  a  fever,  a  passion ; 
she  was  absorbed  and  enraptured  by  it,  and  her  mental 
impulse  towards  this  great  undertaking  is  so  keen  and 
genuine  that  it  seems,  at  moments,  to  enlarge  her  heart. 
At  the  outset,  the  favourite's  idea  is  a  secret,  a  secret  so 
well  kept  that  the  majority  of  historians  attribute  the 
project  to  the  Comte  d'Argenson;  but  it  is  an  honour 
which  must  be  rendered  to  Madame  de  Pompadour,  after 
the  perusal  of  this  letter  written  by  her  on  the  18th  Sep- 
tember 1750,  on  her  return  from  a  visit  to  Saint-Cyr. 

"We  went  the  day  before  yesterday  to  Saint-Cyr.  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  much  emotion  I  felt  at  the  sight 
of  this  establishment,  as  well  as  of  all  therein;  they  all 


These  Splendid  Women  241 

came  to  tell  me  that  a  similar  one  should  be  founded 
for  men.  This  made  me  want  to  laugh,  for  they  will 
think  when  our  affair  transpires,  that  it  was  they  who 
gave  me  the  notion." 

From  that  day  forward  we  find  the  Marquise  de 
Pompadour  plotting  with  Paris  Duvergney,  ''her  beloved 
booby,"  She  asks  him  for  plans,  makes  him  study  Saint- 
Cyr  and  its  organization,  urges  him  to  join  his  brother 
in  seeking  for  the  most  suitable  field  for  her  project.  It 
is  a  flood  of  letters,  projects,  devices,  and  an  immense 
impatience  for  the  spring,  when  the  foundation  stone  of 
the  edifice  is  to  be  laid!  The  Marquise  never  brought 
more  fire  or  spirit  to  an  affair  of  her  own.  In  a  letter 
of  the  9th  of  November  she  writes :  "I  have  been  en- 
chanted to  see  the  King  now  concerning  himself  with 
the  details.  I  am  on  fire  to  see  the  thing  made  public, 
since  after  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  draw  back.  I 
count  on  your  eloquence  to  seduce  M.  de  Machault,  al- 
though I  deem  him  too  much  attached  to  the  King  to 
thwart  his  glory.  In  short,  my  dear  Duvergney,  I  count 
upon  your  vigilance  presently  to  inform  the  universe. 
You  will  come  to  see  me  on  Thursday,  I  hope.  I  need 
not  tell  you  how  charmed  I  shall  be,  and  that  I  love  you 
with  all  my  heart." 

And  through  the  ensuing  years,  the  desire,  the  activity, 
the  passion  and  zeal  of  the  Marquise  never  falter.  She 
encourages  and  discusses  the  propositions  of  Duvergney. 
In  order  to  endow  the  establishment,  she  seeks  funds 
with  him  by  means  of  a  tax  upon  playing-cards;  she 
soothes  the  altercations  of  her  brother  IMarigny  and 
Paris-Duvergney  upon  the  subject  of  the  buildings.  She 
orders  the  internal  arrangements  of  the  school;  she 
interests  the  King  in  the  digging  up  of  the  earth  for 
foundations,  and  when,  at  one  moment,  in  1755,  money 
is  lacking,  when  Madame  de  Pompadour  sees  that  long 
cherished   dream   of   her   young   school   manoeuvring  to 


242  These  Splendid  Women 

the  sound  of  drums  before  the  King's  eyes,  on  the  point 
of  vanishing,  she  takes  up  her  pen  and  writes  with  an 
accent  of  grandeur  and  generous  emotion:  "No,  most 
certainly,  my  dear  booby,  I  will  not  allow  to  founder 
in  harbor  an  establishment  destined  to  render  the  King 
immortal,  to  give  his  nobility  happiness,  and  testify  my 
attachment  for  the  State  and  for  the  person  of  his 
Majesty  to  posterity.  I  told  Gabriel  to-day  to  make  ar- 
rangements to  send  the  workmen  necessary  for  the  com- 
pletion of  the  work  to  Crenelle.  My  revenues  for  this 
year  have  not  yet  come  in;  I  shall  devote  them  in  their 
entirety  for  the  payment  of  the  weekly  wage-bills  of  the 
laborers.  I  know  not  whether  I  shall  find  sureties  for 
my  repayment,  but  I  am  very  sure  that  I  will  risk  a  hun- 
dred thousand  livres  with  great  satisfaction  for  the  wel- 
fare of  these  poor  children.  Good-night,  dear  booby.  If 
you  are  able  to  come  to  Paris  on  Tuesday,  I  shall  have 
much  pleasure  in  seeing  you;  if  you  can  not  come,  send 
your  nephew  to  me  about  six  o'clock." 

Voltaire,  indeed,  was  not  only  Madame  de  Pompadour's 
courtier,  but  also  her  tool,  her  man,  and  her  weapon  of 
attack.  Satires,  epigrams,  literary  executions,  tasteful 
tempers,  all  that  in  him  seemed  like  the  work  of  a  friend, 
the  pleading  of  a  poet  pro  domo  sua,  masked  and  served 
the  vengeance  of  Madame  de  Pompadour;  and  in  that 
police  of  Parnassus,  made  of  strokes  of  irony,  it  was 
at  the  political  enemies  of  the  Marquise  that  he  aimed. 

With  his  shower  of  Whens  and  Ifs  and  Whys  and 
Wherefores,  Whos  and  Whats,  he  cudgelled  not  Lefranc 
de  Pompignau,  but  the  party  of  the  Dauphin  and  the 
Dauphin  himself.  A  key  to  Voltaire's  pamphlets  is  a 
fact  not  to  be  forgotten  in  the  history  of  Madame  de 
Pompadour.  Thus  bound  to  Voltaire  by  services  and 
her  need  of  his  wit,  the  mistress  favoured  him  with  her 
friendship  and  patronage  as  long  as  she  lived,  in  spite 
of  coolnesses,  susceptibilities,  and  petty  squabbles,  and 
Voltaire  remained  her  most  devoted  pensioner.     He  had 


These  Splendid  Women  243 

to  thank  her  for  having  retained  the  1000  livres  which  he 
received  from  the  King's  treasury.  He  shared  the  re- 
sentment and  the  rancour  of  the  favourite  against  Boyer, 
whom  he  accused  of  having  compelled  him  to  take  refuge 
in  Holland ;  he  defended  and  consoled  her  all  through  her 
reign  by  his  attacks  upon  those  ''imbecile  bigots  of  al- 
moners''; he  devoted  to  her  his  flattery  and  his  pen,  and 
when  Madame  de  Pompadour  died  he  gave  her  the  great 
canonisation  of  his  party,  proclaiming  her  a  philosopher. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  had  strength  for  all  these 
interests,  for  labors  so  vast,  occupations  so  diverse.  And 
her  indefatigable  activity  found  leisure  besides  in  a  life 
so  full,  disputed  by  so  many  agitations.  Here  we  see 
her  stealing  from  her  cares  and  the  thousand  affairs  of 
each  one  of  her  days  the  time  to  recall  herself  to  her 
friends  in  a  familiar  correspondence,  which  has  the  free- 
dom and  ease  of  conversation.  The  Gazette  of  the  Court 
and  the  soul  of  the  woman  who  holds  the  pen,  all  passes 
pell-mell  in  an  unrestrained  style  whose  tone  of  amiability 
is  a  brusque,  almost  virile  cordiality.  From  commissions 
for  stuffs  for  furnishing,  Madame  Pompadour  leaps  to 
the  properties  she  has  acquired,  to  the  retreats  where  she 
loves  to  take  refuge,  to  her  removals  to  Versailles,  the 
giddy  round  of  the  court,  the  dead  of  yesterdays,  the  mar- 
riages she  has  made  at  Crecy,  the  couples  dancing  in  the 
courtyard  of  her  chateau.  Her  troubles,  her  joys,  her 
changing  humors,  and  habits,  have  a  frank  and  living 
echo  in  the  short  and  interrupted  epistles,  which  deserve 
a  niche  in  the  favorite's  biography. 

"  'Tis  an  age  since  I  wrote  to  you,  big  woman.  Play- 
going,  a  thousand  different  matters  have  prevented  me. 
Poor  Coigny's  misfortune  has  made  us  despair.  The 
King  frightened  me  from  its  effect  on  him.  He  gave  such 
marks  of  his  good  heart  that  I  dreaded  the  effect  of  them 
upon  his  health.  Happily,  reason  has  now  got  the  upper 
hand.  After  long  expecting  Monsieur,  your  brother,  I 
saw  him  yesterday.    We  were  not  able  to  meet.    He  gave 


244  These  Splendid  Women 

me  a  beautiful  book,  and  has  promised  to  deprive  you 
of  his  house  in  order  to  compel  you  to  come  here;  you 
will  easily  imagine  my  gratitude  to  him.  I  have  given  up 
Tretou,  and  bought  La  Selle  in  its  stead,  a  little  chateau 
near  here,  passably  pretty.  I  want  my  dimities;  write 
me  what  I  owe  you  for  I  have  no  idea.  I  have  spoken 
to  Monsieur  de  Venelles ;  he  told  me  that  if  it  were  pos- 
sible he  would  take  away  the  shop  from  you.  Little 
Madame  has  just  died  from  teething.  Monsieur  le 
Dauphin  is  heart-broken.  Good-night,  big  woman;  you 
know  my  friendship.     This  26th  of  March  1748." 

"I  was  heart-broken  at  Madame  la  Dauphin's  mis- 
carriage; but  I  hope  that  it  will  soon  be  repaired.  The 
King,  thank  Heaven,  is  amazingly  well,  and  I  too;  you 
thought  that  we  were  no  longer  moving,  you  make  a 
mistake,  we  are  still  on  the  road :  Choisy,  La  Muette,  a 
little  chateau  and  a  certain  hermitage  near  the  Grille  du 
Dragon,  at  Versailles,  where  I  pass  half  my  life.  It  is 
seventy-two  feet  long  by  thirty  wide,  and  nothing  above 
it,  judge  of  its  beauty;  but  I  am  alone  or  with  the  King 
and  little  company,  thus  I  am  happy  here;  you  will  have 
been  told  that  it  is  a  palace  like  Meudon  with  nine  win- 
dows out  of  seven  in  front.  But  it  is  the  fashion  now 
in  Paris  to  talk  nonsense,  and  about  everything.  Good- 
bye, my  biggest  of  women,  I  will  prepare  a  room  for 
you  at  Meudon,  and  should  like  you  to  promise  to  come 
there.    This  27th  of  February." 

*T  hope  and  flatter  myself  greatly,  big  woman,  that 
my  silence  has  made  no  impression  upon  you ;  in  any  case, 
you  would  be  wrong.  The  life  I  am  leading  is  terrible, 
I  have  hardly  a  minute  to  myself,  rehearsals  and  per- 
formances, and  constant  journeys  twice  a  week  both  to 
the  little  Chateau  and  to  La  Muette,  etc.  Important  and 
inevitable  duties.  Queen,  Dauphin,  Dauphine  (mercifully 
confined  to  her  couch),  three  girls,  two  Infantas,  judge 
whether  it  is  possible  to  breathe,  pity  me  and  do  not 
accuse  me." 


These  Splendid  Women  245 

"The  little  La  Faye's  accident  is  horrible,  big  woman, 
and  I  agree  with  you  that  it  is  impossible  for  your 
son  to  marry  her.  The  Petites  Maisons  were  never 
wedded;  it  is  a  case  in  point,  and,  although  I  pity  her 
mightily,  the  thing  is  not  practicable.  The  King  has 
given  me  the  lodging  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Penthievre  which  will  be  very  convenient  for  me.  They 
move  to  that  of  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Toulouse,  who 
retains  a  corner  of  it,  in  order  to  visit  the  King  of 
evenings.  They  are  all  very  pleased,  and  I  too;  it  is 
consequently  a  pleasant  arrangement.  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  move  in  until  after  Fontainebleau,  because  it  will 
have  to  be  fitted  up.  I  receive  your  compliment  to 
Madame  la  Duchesse  with  great  satisfaction.  There  are 
surely  few  persons  who  are  as  contented  as  I  am  with 
the  hopes  we  have.  What  they  have  told  you  about 
me  is  absolutely  false.  I  will  see  that  you  are  immedi- 
ately reimbursed  for  what  I  owe  you;  I  have  all  I  need 
for  all  my  furniture  at  Bellevue,  so  that  I  require  no  more 
chintz,  and  I  thank  you  greatly  for  it  and  embrace  you, 
big  woman,  with  my  whole  heart.    This  29th,  1750." 

"The  children  have  arrived  safely,  big  woman,  and  have 
been  sent  at  once  to  the  Cabinet  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 
I  do  not  find  them  over  good-looking.  You  can  well 
imagine  how  enchanted  I  was  to  receive  the  King  at 
Bellevue.  His  Majesty  has  made  three  journeys  there; 
he  is  to  go  there  on  the  25th  of  this  month.  It  is  a 
delicious  place  owing  to  the  view;  the  house,  although 
not  very  large,  is  commodious  and  charming,  without  any 
sort  of  magnificence.  We  shall  play  some  comedies  there. 
The  spectacles  of  Versailles  have  not  been  started  again. 
The  King  wishes  to  reduce  his  expenditure  of  every  kind ; 
although  this  is  hardly  considerable,  as  the  public  believe 
it  to  be  so,  I  wished  to  respect  its  opinion  and  set  an 
example.  I  hope  that  the  others  will  think  the  same ;  I 
suppose  you  are  mighty  pleased  with  the  edict  which  the 
King  has  issued  ennobHng  the  officers.    You  will  be  more 


246  These  Splendid  Women 

so  with  the  one  which  is  about  to  appear  for  the  establish- 
ment of  five  hundred  gentlemen  whom  his  Majesty  will 
educate  in  the  military  art.  This  Royal  School  will  be 
built  near  the  Invalides.  This  establishment  is  all  the 
finer  in  that  His  Majesty  has  been  working  at  it  for  more 
than  a  year  and  his  ministers  have  no  share  in  it,  and  only 
knew  of  it  when  he  had  arranged  all  to  his  liking,  which 
happened  at  the  end  of  the  visit  to  Fontainebleau.  What 
you  wish  for  your  son  does  not  seem  to  me  possible.  I 
have  consulted  well-informed  persons  who  tell  me  that  the 
officers  of  the  Guards  would  look  upon  it  as  a  robbery  I 
had  committed  on  them;  that,  besides,  the  12,000  livres 
increase  would  certainly  be  withdrawn;  thus  2,000  livres 
would  do  your  son  no  great  good,  but  would  be  much  to 
an  exempt.  Think  of  something  else  that  I  can  obtain  for 
your  son;  I  will  go  about  it  with  all  the  friendship  that 
you  know  I  bear  you.    This  3rd  of  January  1751." 

Then,  dropping  her  pen,  Madame  de  Pompadour  would 
seek  recreation  in  reading.  She  would  apply  her  mind  or 
let  her  thought  wander  to  some  one  of  the  volumes  in  that 
library  which  satisfied  all  the  tastes  of  her  intellect,  and 
responded  to  all  the  needs  of  her  position.  The  library 
of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  indeed,  was  not  merely  a 
woman's  reading-room :  it  was  also  the  favorite's  arsenal 
and  school.  The  most  serious  volumes  were  not  there  for 
show  and  parade;  they  completed  IMadame  de  Pompa- 
dour's education,  they  furnished  her  with  the  arms  of 
government,  the  terms  of  matters  of  State,  the  knowledge 
of  historical  precedents,  the  art  of  touching  politics  with- 
out gaucherie,  the  capacity  of  speaking  on  the  gravest 
questions  of  authority  and  the  greatest  conflicts  between 
prerogatives,  with  the  accent  and  almost  the  competence 
of  a  minister.  The  books  on  public  law,  the  old  French 
law,  the  history  of  all  countries,  the  history  of  France 
taught  her  all  that  was  necessary  to  enable  her  to  play 
her  part  with  competence  if  not  with  distinction.  Like 
the  political  woman,  the  woman  philosopher  found  succor 


i 


These  Splendid  Women  247 

and  resources  in  that  library:  the  ancient  and  modern 
moraHsts  lined  the  shelves;  and  Madame  de  Pompadour 
had  but  to  stretch  out  an  arm  in  order  to  touch  the  wis- 
dom of  Paganism  or  of  Voltaire  and  strengthen  herself 
in  the  stoicism  of  her  last  hour.  Beside  these  books  of 
study  and  these  books  of  counsel,  the  manuals  of  her  mind 
and  breviaries  of  her  soul,  came  the  magnificent  collection 
of  the  actress  and  the  singer,  the  archives  of  the  Virtuoso, 
the  unique  series  of  works  upon  the  drama,  of  pieces  since 
the  time  of  the  mysteries,  of  operas  printed  and  engraved, 
for  which  the  fine  library  of  Beaumarchais,  the  author  of 
Researches  into  the  Stage,  had  supplied  the  first  material. 
Here  and  there  books  with  plates,  engraved  books,  Callot, 
La  Belle,  Sylvestre,  at  times  tempted  the  hand  of  the  fair 
engraver,  weary  of  holding  her  tool,  and  gave  her  their 
mute  lessons.  But,  above  all,  how  many  books,  among 
all  those  volumes,  the  most  severe  of  which  delighted  the 
eye  with  their  morocco  backs  and  blazoned  sides,  how 
many  volumes  spoke  to  the  imagination  of  the  woman, 
amused  her,  soothed  her,  enticed  her  into  the  distraction 
of  dream!  The  library  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  was 
the  palace  of  romance,  love  stories  from  all  the  lands  of 
love,  Spanish,  Italian,  French,  romances  of  chivalry, 
heroic  romances,  historical  romances,  moral  and  political 
romances,  satirical  comic  rom.ances,  romances  of  the  mar- 
vellous and  of  faery, — the  favorite  had  willed  that  all 
the  children  of  human  fiction  should  surround  her  with 
their  falsehoods  and  their  enchantments,  and  should  give 
her  for  a  few  hours  oblivion  of  the  present  and  of  so 
hugely  envied  a  life! 

Time  and  death  served  Madame  de  Pompadour.  They 
rid  her  in  succession  of  the  two  Dauphines  and  of  the 
Dauphin,  that  constant  and  redoubtable  foe,  over  whom 
she  had  never  ceased  casting  ridicule.  Disgrace  again 
relieved  her  of  the  Marquis  de  Souvre,  who  had  for  so 
long  represented  in  his  sole  person  the  opposition  of  the 
court  to  the  favourite,  with  so  much  wit  and  audacity, 


248  These  Splendid  Women 

with  such  pitiless  allusions,  such  fearless  epigrams  such 
as  the  one  which  earned  him  exile;  he  had  said  "that  he 
was  astonished  that  Madame  de  Pompadour  should  wish 
to  learn  German,  whilst  she  did  nothing  but  murder 
French." 

And,  nevertheless,  all  these  deaths  which  diminished 
the  party  of  the  Royal  family,  this  exile  which  deprived 
the  little  group  of  malcontents  at  court  of  a  leader  and  a 
pattern,  did  not  give  Madame  de  Pompadour  tranquillity. 
And  she  went  back  to  Versailles  with  despair  in  her 
heart.  She  was  alarmed  further  at  the  sight  of  her  own 
alarm  on  the  forehead  of  M.  de  Choiseul.  But  the  advice 
of  that  Providence  to  the  mistresses,  the  Marechale  de 
Mirepoix,  restored  her  courage  with  her  coolness,  her 
healthy  view  of  things,  and  that  clear  summing  up  of 
the  situation  which  she  knew  how  to  make  so  clearly  and 
keenly,  with  so  practical  a  knowledge  of  life  and  character. 
Speaking  of  the  King,  Madame  de  Mirepoix  said  tc 
Madame  de  Pompadour:  "I  will  not  tell  you  that  he 
loves  you  better  than  her,  and  if  by  the  stroke  of  a  wand 
she  could  be  transported  here,  if  she  could  be  offered  to 
him  to-night  at  supper,  and  initiated  into  his  tastes,  there 
would  be  cause,  perhaps,  for  you  to  tremble.  But  princes 
are,  before  all,  people  of  habit.  The  King's  friendship 
for  you  is  the  same  as  for  your  apartment,  your  surround- 
ings. You  are  used  to  his  manners,  his  histories;  he 
stands  on  no  ceremony,  is  not  afraid  of  boring  you.  How 
do  you  suppose  he  will  have  the  courage  to  root  up  all 
that  in  a  day,  to  form  another  establishment,  and  make 
a  public  spectacle  of  himself  by  so  great  a  change  of 
decoration?"  She  also  said,  in  reference  to  the  child, 
which  was  the  great  uneasiness  of  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour: "You  may  be  convinced  that  the  King  troubles 
mighty  little  about  the  child.  He  has  enough  of  it,  and 
would  not  wish  to  have  mother  and  child  on  his  hands. 
Look  how  he  occupies  himself  with  the  Comte  de  Luc, 
who  resembles  him  in  the  most  striking  manner ;  he  never 


These  Splendid  Women  249 

speaks  of  him,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  will  never  do 
anything  for  him.  Once  more,  we  are  not  under 
Louis  XIV.     .     .     ." 

These  words  of  Madame  de  Mirepoix  saved  Madame 
de  Pompadour  from  discouragement;  they  gave  her  the 
strength  to  struggle,  the  certitude  of  victory,  and  the 
necessary  presence  of  mind  to  hide  her  alarm  and  her 
dreads  from  the  King,  recover  an  undivided  power  over 
him,  and  reduce  his  amour  to  the  proportions  of  an  in- 
trigue at  the  Parc-aux-Cerfs. 

Thus,  then,  the  very  infidelities,  the  longest  and  keenest 
caprices  of  the  King  could  not  break  her  chain.  Habit 
had  subjugated  him  to  Madame  de  Pompadour's  domina- 
tion. And  the  favorite  had  arrived  at  that  moment  of 
confidence  and  security  in  a  liaison,  when  the  infidelities 
of  her  lover's  senses  no  longer  convey  any  menace  to 
her  position  as  a  mistress.  After  this  last  proof,  Madame 
de  Pompadour  might  well  deem  her  favor  impregnable. 
Nothing  need  any  longer  disquiet  her;  and  she  was  de- 
livered from  that  torment  as  to  the  future,  which  poisoned 
her  fortune,  the  fixed  idea  of  her  dreams,  the  constant 
care  that  tainted  all  her  joys,  the  jealousy  of  her  ever 
restless,  ever  trembling  ambitions.  And  nevertheless,  in 
this  deliverance,  in  the  midst  of  these  untroubled  days, 
when  her  reign  seemed  definitely  assured,  and  every  bless- 
ing seemed  to  smile  upon  her,  a  sadness  deeper  and 
gloomier  than  the  weariness  of  the  last  days  of  Madame 
de  Maintenon  gradually  overcame  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour, suffused  her  face  and  her  soul,  the  solitude  of  her 
heart  and  the  gaze  of  her  great  dying  eyes.  The  greatest, 
and,  let  it  be  added,  the  noblest  dream  of  her  life  had  been 
frustrated:  she  must  needs  renounce  glory,  "renounce  all 
glory!  .  .  ."  she  writes  with  despair  in  a  letter  which 
seems  the  supreme  and  heartrending  cry  of  her  van- 
quished hopes  and  pride.  Do  not,  indeed,  be  deceived  by 
the  mask  of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  by  that  parade  of 
indifference  and  carelessness,  by  that  saying,  in  which,  in 


250  These  Splendid  Women 

order  to  shock  Louis  XV.,  her  lips  blasphemed  posterity: 
**After  us  the  deluge!"     The   favorite  did  not  despise 
the  memory  of  her  name.    She  was  concerned  for,  preoc- 
cupied with  history.     All  the  time  of  her  favor,  she  had 
everywhere  followed  and  entreated  glory  with  all  the  pas- 
sion and  obstinacy  of  a  woman.    Upon  the  great  throne  to 
which  chance  had  raised  her,  she  had  sought  to  attain  to 
posterity,   and   the   present,   as   little   as   the  tomb,   had 
seemed    the    term    of    her    reign   and    fame.      She    had 
dreamed  of  binding  up  her  image  and  the  name  of  Pom- 
padour with  a  reign   of   conquest,   captured   cities,   and 
subjugated   provinces,   with   the   aggrandizement   of    the 
monarchy,  the  glory  of  our  arms,  the  thunder  of  victories, 
with  all  the  great  immortalities  of  war,  that  patrimony  of 
a  people's  honor.     For  a  moment  she  had  thought  to 
surpass  the  political  combinations  of  Richelieu  and  the 
vaunted  plans  of  the  Marquis  de  Louvois.    For  a  moment, 
she  had  thrust  out  her  hand  upon  Hanover,  Hesse,  the 
two  Saxonies.     For  a  moment,  she  had  thought  to  push 
the    frontiers    and    flag  of    France    as    far    forward    as 
L'Escaut.     .     .     .    What  was  left  of  all  these  illusions? 
The    fortune   of    battles   had   played   with    France,   and 
Madame  de  Pompadour  had  to  count  all  those  defeats 
which  had  followed  Rosbach  and  Minden  and  Warbourg 
and  Filingshausen,  unparalleled  reverses  which  had  even 
detracted  from  the  European  reputation  for  bravery  of 
the  French  soldier,  and  which  exposed  the  French  bank  of 
the  Rhine  to  the  passage  of  foreign  troops.     What  hu- 
miliations for  her  in  these  humiliations  of  France:  our 
Channel  coast  ravaged  by  fire  and  bombarded;  our  fleets 
taking  refuge  in  our  ports  and  deserting  the  seas;  and 
India  and  Africa  where  fortune  betrayed  us  as  in  Europe ! 
Then  within  the  kingdom  there  were  all  the  corresponding 
effects  of  these  disasters,  all  the  miseries  entailed  by  an 
unfortunate  war,  the  countryside  bereft  of  a  million  of 
men,    agriculture    clamoring    for    arms,    commerce    de- 
stroyed, the  finances  exhausted  and  insufficient  for  the 


These  Splendid  Women  251 

needs  of  the  King  and  the  State,  France  more  ruined,  en- 
feebled and  abased  than  in  the  gloomiest  days  of  the  close 
of  the  monarchy  of  Louis  XIV.!  Lugubrious  spectacle 
thrust  upon  her  from  all  sides,  wounding  her  at  every 
moment,  maledictions  of  fates,  men  and  things,  in  which 
she  already  heard  the  voice  of  her  future  unpopularity; 
dumb  sorrows,  stifled  shames,  wounds  always  open,  where 
the  King's  shamefaced  look  before  some  foreign  general 
rendered  illustrious  by  our  reverses  made  the  vanity  of 
a  woman  bleed  almost  as  painfully  as  a  people's  pride ! 

And  finally,  when  the  whole  policy  of  Madame  de 
Pompadour  was  brought  to  a  conclusion  in  the  Treaty 
of  Paris;  when  she  had  to  resign  herself  to  sign  the 
abandonment  of  our  rights  over  the  New  World,  the 
cession  of  Arcadia,  Canada,  the  Isle  of  Cape  Breton,  all 
the  islands  in  the  Gulf  and  River  of  the  Saint-Lawrence ; 
when  she  had  to  submit  to  all  those  sacrifices  for  which 
future  ages  were  to  ask  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  account 
as  the  real  master  of  the  policy  of  King  Louis  XV.; 
what  torture  to  the  favorite,  who,  fighting  over  the 
details  of  the  treaty,  and  wishing  at  least  to  preserve 
the  King's  dignity,  came  near  to  quarrelling  with  Choiseul 
over  the  ancient  title  of  King  of  France,  assumed  in  the 
treaty  by  the  King  of  England. 

This  awakening,  after  that  dream,  the  lack  of  glory 
after  such  an  impatience  and  longing  for  glory  was  a 
most  bitter  deception  to  a  woman  accustomed  to  mould 
everything  to  her  wishes  and  caprice.  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour found  no  consolation,  and  her  grief  at  so  great 
a  fall  was  a  torture  to  her  as  mortal  as  the  disease  she 
bore  within  her  which  was  her  death. 

An  internal  malady,  secret  sufferings,  were  afflicting 
Madame  de  Pompadour.  That  nervous  organization, 
that  weak  chest,  which  asked  for  rest  and  care,  shaken 
and  inflamed  by  the  life  of  bustle  and  fatigue,  "that 
life  ever  in  the  air  and  on  the  highways,"  as  she  has 
somewhere  said,  exhausted  her  more,  day  by  day.     The 


252  These  Splendid  Women 

tension  of  all  the  moral  energies  further  enfevered  and 
wasted  that  body  to  which  Madame  de  Pompadour 
would  show  no  mercy,  and  which  she  continued  to  exert 
and  agitate.  It  was  a  miracle  to  see  her  thus,  crushing 
down  her  disease  and  keeping  about,  to  many  who  be- 
lieved her  undermined  by  a  slow  poison.  Of  her  beauty, 
those  fresh  features  so  lively  and  animated  in  1748,  hardly 
anything  remained  but  the  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  made 
bigger  by  fever  and  full  of  an  ardent  flame.  That  se- 
ductive physiognomy  over  which  such  soul  and  spirit 
passed  and  played  in  flashes,  was  only  revealed  now  in 
a  smile  which  grimaced  beneath  a  mask  of  irony.  In 
vain  she  plastered  and  loaded  with  vivid  red  and  white 
that  drawn,  leaden,  and  extinguished  face;  in  vain,  be- 
neath toilettes  and  artifices,  the  coquetries  of  despair,  did 
she  veil  her  leanness  and  seek  passionately  to  hide  all  of 
her  that  was  already  dead ;  every  one  saw  her  as  she  was : 
worn  out,  sick,  dying. 

It  was  during  a  pleasure  excursion  to  Choisy  that  the 
machinery  suddenly  stopped;  strength  failed  the  volition 
of  the  Marquise:  she  had  to  take  to  her  bed.  Troubles 
that  were  little  suspected  by  the  public  beset  the  Marquise 
at  the  beginning  of  her  illness.  She  was  worried  in  the 
bed,  where  she  was  laid  low  by  fever,  by  money  diffi- 
culties. Such  had  for  long  been  the  wretched  preoccupa- 
tions of  this  grasping  woman  who  took  from  every  hand, 
and  whom  the  populace  accused  of  having  invested  enor- 
mous sums  abroad.  In  her  mad  desire  to  build  and  make 
acquisitions  of  every  kind,  the  favorite's  expenditure 
had  far  exceeded  her  revenues,  the  perquisites  of  her 
position.  She  was  forced,  every  moment,  to  have  re- 
course to  expedients,  whilst  nothing  could  cure  her  of 
her  mania  of  acquiring,  of  her  laboring  to  possess  more. 
The  pension  which  the  King  gave  her  in  1746,  that 
pension  of  2400  livres  a  month,  which  the  King  hardly 
counted,  in  his  first  moments  of  passion,  amid  the 
generosity  which  he  lavished  upon  his  mistress,  became 


These  Splendid  Women  253 

regularized  with  the  habit  of  the  liaison  and  never  ex- 
ceeded 4000  hvres  a  month.  On  the  other  side,  the  King's 
presents,  which  in  1747  amounted  to  50,000  Hvres,  soon 
fell  as  low  as  20,000  Hvres;  and  from  1750  ceased  al- 
together. How  were  matters  to  be  met,  especially  during 
the  bad  years  of  the  Seven  Years'  War;  in  1760,  for 
instance,  when  her  pension  had  fallen  to  3000  Hvres  a 
month,  and  when  she  had  also  bought  Menars?  Madame 
de  Pompadour  faced  what  was  most  pressing  with  all 
sorts  of  resources  and  sacrifices,  sometimes  by  her  card 
winnings,  which  in  1752  amounted  to  nearly  38,000 
livres,  in  1753  to  20,000  Hvres;  sometimes,  when  luck 
was  against  her,  by  the  sale  of  snuff-boxes,  jewelry, 
pearl  bracelets;  sometimes,  again,  by  a  small  windfall,  a 
present  of  6000  livres,  for  instance,  which  she  obtained 
from  the  King  owing  to  her  courage  in  letting  herself 
be  bled.  This  lack  of  balance  between  receipts  and  ex- 
penses, this  difficulty  in  the  midst  of  the  opulence  which 
piled  up  debts,  reached  such  a  point  that  Collin  was 
obliged  to  borrow  70,000  livres  at  the  moment  when 
Madame  de  Pompadour  fell  ill.  Who  would  have  thought 
that  the  favorite  would  leave,  for  all  money,  at  her  death, 
but  thirty-seven  louis  d'or  in  her  writing-table? 

After  a  few  days  the  sick  woman's  cough  grew  worse. 
The  bed  suffocated  her.  The  doctors  did  not  conceal 
their  anxiety.  The  King  visited  the  patient  almost  every 
day;  and  upon  the  days  when  he  was  detained  at  Ver- 
sailles, couriers  brought  him  hourly  reports  from  Choisy 
which  the  members  of  the  Royal  Family  sent  for  in  their 
turn.  It  was  not  long  before  the  Marquise  was  con- 
demned ;  and  there  seemed  no  more  hope  remaining,  when, 
at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  a  sudden  improvement  declared. 
The  fever  was  diminished ;  the  cough  almost  ceased ;  and, 
one  morning,  the  friends  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  were 
full  of  the  good  news :  she  had  been  able  to  sleep  for  five 
hours  in  an  arm-chair,  and  felt  so  well  that  she  was  to 
make  an  attempt  to  sleep  in  her  bed  that  night.     After 


254  These  Splendid  Women 

some  returns  of  fever,  the  Marquise  was  able  to  rise, 
then  soon  to  take  the  air  in  a  carriage  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Choisy.  The  doctors  themselves  had  already 
fixed  the  day  for  her  return  to  Versailles.  It  was  a  resur- 
rection. Cochin  received  the  order  to  design,  for  the  con- 
valescence of  the  Marquise,  a  cartel  in  which  Favart  was 
already  taking  the  measure  of  his  song  upon  the  eclipse 
of  the  sun: 

Le  Soleil  est  malade, 
Et  Pompadour  aussi. 
Ce  n'est  qu'une  passade, 
L'un  et  I'autre  est  gueri. 
Le  bon  Dieu  qui  feconde 
Nos  voeux  et  notre  amour 
Pour  le  bonheur  du  monde 
Nous  a  rendu  le  jour 

Avec  Pompadour. 
Votum  populi,  laus  ejus. 

But  engraving  and  song  were  destined  to  be  too  late. 
The  Marquise,  transported  to  Versailles,  to  the  palace, 
deprived  of  the  care  of  Quesnay,  who  was  acquainted  with 
her  disease  and  her  temperament,  delivered  into  the  un- 
skilled hands  of  Richard,  the  Marquise  died. 


Qharlotte  Qorday 

By  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

JN  the  leafy  months  of  June  and  July,  several  French 
departments  germinate  a  set  of  rebellious  paper- 
leaves,  named  proclamations,  resolutions,  journals, 
or  diurnals,  of  "the  union  for  resistance  to  oppression." 
In  particular,  the  town  of  Caen,  in  Calvados,  sees  its 
paper-leaf  of  Bulletin  de  Caen  suddenly  bud,  suddenly 
establish  itself  as  newspaper  there;  under  the  editorship 
of  Girondin  national  representatives ! 

For  among  the  proscribed  Girondins  are  certain  of  a 
more  desperate  humor.  Some,  as  Vergniaud,  Valaze, 
Gensonne,  "arrested  in  their  own  houses,"  will  await  with 
stoical  resignation  what  the  issue  may  be.  Some,  as 
Brissot,  Rabaut,  will  take  to  flight,  to  concealment ;  which, 
as  the  Paris  barriers  are  opened  again  in  a  day  or  two, 
is  not  yet  difficult.  But  others  there  are  who  will  rush, 
with  Buzot,  to  Calvados;  or  far  over  France,  to  Lyons, 
Toulon,  Nantes  and  elsewhither,  and  then  rendezvous  at 
Caen :  to  awaken  as  with  war-trumpet  the  respectable  de- 
partments ;  and  strike  down  an  anarchic  mountain  faction ; 
at  least  not  yield  without  a  stroke  at  it.  Of  this  latter 
temper  we  count  some  score  or  more,  of  the  arrested,  and 
of  the  not  yet  arrested;  a  Buzot,  a  Barbaroux,  Louvet, 
Guadet,  Petition,  who  have  escaped  from  arrestment  in 
their  own  homes;  a  Salles,  a  Pythagorean  Valady,  a 
Duchatel ;  the  Duchatel  that  came  in  blanket  and  nightcap 
to  vote  for  the  life  of  Louis,  who  have  escaped  from  dan- 
ger and  likelihood  of  arrestment.    These,  to  the  number 


256  These  Splendid  Women 

at  one  time  of  twenty-seven,  do  accordingly  lodge  here, 
at  the  "Intendance,  or  departmental  mansion,"  of  the 
town  of  Caen  in  Calvados;  welcomed  by  persons  in 
authority;  welcomed  and  defrayed,  having  no  money  of 
their  own.  And  the  Bulletin  de  Caen  comes  forth,  with 
the  most  animating  paragraphs:  How  the  Bordeaux  de- 
partment, the  Lyons  department,  this  department  after  the 
other  is  declaring  itself ;  sixty,  or  say  sixty-nine,  or 
seventy-two  respectable  departments  either  declaring,  or 
ready  to  declare.  Nay  Marseilles,  it  seems,  will  march  on 
Paris  by  itself,  if  need  be.  So  has  Marseilles  town  said, 
that  she  will  march.  But  on  the  other  hand,  that  MonteH- 
mart  town  has  said,  No  thoroughfare ;  and  means  even  to 
"bury  herself"  under  her  own  stone  and  mortar  first — 
of  this  be  no  mention  in  Bulletin  de  Caen. 

Such  animating  paragraphs  we  read  in  this  new  news- 
paper ;  and  fervors  and  eloquent  sarcasm :  tirades  against 
the  mountain,  from  the  pen  of  Deputy  Salles;  which  re- 
semble, say  friends,  Pascal's  Provincials.  What  is  more 
to  the  purpose,  these  Girondins  have  got  a  general  in 
chief,  one  Wimpfen,  formerly  under  Dumouriez;  also  a 
secondary  questionable  General  Puisaye,  and  others;  and 
are  doing  their  best  to  raise  a  force  for  war.  National 
volunteers,  whosoever  is  of  right  heart:  gather  in,  ye  na- 
tional volunteers,  friends  of  liberty;  from  our  Calvados 
townships,  from  the  Eure,  from  Brittany,  from  far  and 
near;  forward  to  Paris,  and  extinguish  anarchy!  Thus 
at  Caen,  in  the  early  July  days,  there  is  a  drumming  and 
parading;  a  perorating  and  consulting;  staff  and  army; 
council;  Club  of  Carahots,  Anti-Jacobin  friends  of  free- 
dom, to  denounce  atrocious  Marat.  With  all  which,  and 
the  editing  of  bulletins,  a  national  representative  has  his 
hands  full. 

At  Caen  it  is  most  animated ;  and,  as  one  hopes,  more  or 
less  animated  in  the  "Seventy-two  departments  that  ad- 
here to  us."  And  in  a  France  begirt  with  Cimmerian 
invading  coalitions,  and  torn  with  an  internal  La  Vendee, 


These  Splendid  Women  257 

this  is  the  conclusion  we  have  arrived  at:  To  put  down 
anarchy  by  civil  war !  Durum  et  durum,  the  proverb  says, 
non  faciunt  murum.  La  Vendee  burns ;  Santerre  can  do 
nothing  there ;  he  may  return  home  and  brew  beer.  Cim- 
merian bombshells  fly  all  along  the  north.  That  siege  of 
Mentz  is  become  famed;  lovers  of  the  picturesque  (as 
Goethe  will  testify),  washed  country-people  of  both  sexes, 
stroll  thither  on  Sundays,  to  see  the  artillery  work  and 
counterwork;  "you  only  duck  a  little  while  the  shot 
whizzes  past."  Conde  is  capitulating  to  the  Austrians; 
royal  highness  of  York,  these  several  weeks,  fiercely 
batters  Valenciennes.  For,  alas,  our  fortified  camp  of 
Famars  was  stormed ;  General  Dampierre  was  killed ;  Gen- 
eral Custine  was  blamed,  and  indeed  is  now  come  to  Paris 
to  give  "explanations." 

Against  all  which  the  mountain  and  atrocious  Marat 
must  even  make  head  as  they  can.  They,  anarchic 
convention  as  they  are,  publish  decrees,  expostulatory, 
explanatory,  yet  not  without  severity ;  they  ray  forth  com- 
missioners, singly  or  in  pairs,  the  olive-branch  in  one  hand, 
yet  the  sword  in  the  other.  Commissioners  come  even  to 
Caen;  but  without  effect.  Mathematical  Romme,  and 
Prieur  named  of  the  Cote  d'Or,  venturing  thither,  with 
their  olive  and  sword,  are  packed  into  prison;  there  may 
Romme  lie,  under  lock  and  key,  "for  fifty  days;"  and 
meditate  his  new  calendar,  if  he  please.  Cimmeria,  La 
Vendee,  and  civil  war!  Never  was  republic  one  and  in- 
divisible at  a  lower  ebb. 

Amid  which  dim  ferment  of  Caen  and  the  world, 
history  specially  notices  one  thing;  in  the  lobby  of  the 
mansion  de  Vlntendance,  where  busy  deputies  are  coming 
and  going  a  young  lady  with  an  aged  valet,  taking  grave 
graceful  leave  of  Deputy  Barbaroux.  She  is  of  stately 
Norman  figure;  in  her  twenty-fifth  year;  of  beautiful  still 
countenance:  her  name  is  Charlotte  Corday,"*  heretofore 
styled  D'Armans,  while  nobility  still  was.  Barbaroux  has 
given  her  a  note  to  Deputy  Duperret,  him  who  once  drew 


258  These  Splendid  Women 

his  sword  in  the  effervescence.  Apparently  she  will  to 
Paris  on  some  errand  ?  **She  was  a  republican  before  the 
revolution,  and  never  wanted  energy."  A  completeness, 
a  decision  is  in  this  fair  female  figure;  "by  energy  she 
means  the  spirit  that  will  prompt  one  to  sacrifice  himself 
for  his  country."  What  if  she,  this  fair  young  Charlotte, 
had  emerged  from  her  secluded  stillness,  suddenly  like 
a  star;  cruel;  lovely  with  half -angelic,  half  daemonic 
splendor;  to  gleam  for  a  moment,  and  in  a  moment  be 
extinguished;  to  be  held  in  memory,  so  bright  complete 
was  she,  through  long  centuries!  Quitting  Cimmerian 
coalitions  without,  and  the  dim-simmering  twenty-five 
millions  within,  history  will  look  fixedly  at  this  one  fair 
apparition  of  a  Charlotte  Corday ;  will  note  whither  Char- 
lotte moves,  how  the  little  life  burns  forth  so  radiant,  then 
vanishes  swallowed  of  the  night. 

With  Barbaroux's  note  of  introduction,  and  slight  stock 
of  luggage,  we  see  Charlotte  on  Tuesday  the  9th  of  July 
seated  in  the  Caen  diligence,  with  a  place  for  Paris.  None 
takes  farewell  of  her,  wishes  her  good-journey ;  her  father 
will  find  a  line  left,  signifying  that  she  is  gone  to  England, 
that  he  must  pardon  her,  and  forget  her.  The  drowsy 
diligence  lumbers  along;  amid  drowsy  talk  of  poHtics,  and 
praise  of  the  mountain;  in  which  she  mingles  not;  all 
night,  all  day,  and  again  all  night.  On  Thursday,  not 
long  before  noon  we  are  at  the  bridge  of  Neuilly ;  here  is 
Paris  with  her  thousand  black  domes,  the  goal  and  pur- 
pose of  thy  journey !  Arrived  at  the  inn  de  la  Providence 
in  the  Rue  des  Vieux  Augustins,  Charlotte  demands  a 
room;  hastens  to  bed;  sleeps  all  afternoon  and  night,  till 
the  morrow  morning. 

On  the  morrow  morning,  she  delivers  her  note  to 
Duperret.  It  relates  to  certain  family  papers  which  are  in 
the  minister  of  the  interior's  hands ;  which  a  nun  at  Caen, 
an  old  convent-friend  of  Charlotte's,  has  need  of;  which 
Duperret  shall  assist  her  in  getting:  this  then  was  Char- 
lotte's errand  to  Paris?     She  has  finished  this,  in  the 


These  Splendid  Women  259 

course  of  Friday ;  yet  says  nothing  of  returning.  She  has 
seen  and  silently  investigated  several  things.  The  con- 
vention, in  bodily  reality,  she  has  seen ;  what  the  mountain 
is  like.  The  living  physiognomy  of  Marat  she  could  not 
see;  he  is  sick  at  present,  and  confined  to  home. 

About  eight  on  the  Saturday  morning,  she  purchases  a 
large  sheath-knife  in  the  Palais  Royal;  then  straightway, 
in  the  Place  des  Victoires,  takes  a  hackney-coach.  "To 
the  Rue  de  I'Ecole  de  Medicine,  No.  44."  It  is  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Citoyen  Marat!  The  Citoyen  Marat  is  ill, 
and  cannot  be  seen ;  which  seems  to  disappoint  her  much. 
Her  business  is  with  Marat,  then?  Hapless  beautiful 
Charlotte ;  hapless  squalid  Marat !  From  Caen  in  the  ut- 
most west,  from  Neuchatel  in  the  utmost  east,  they  two 
are  drawing  nigh  each  other.  They  two  have,  very 
strangely,  business  together.  Charlotte,  returning  to  her 
inn,  despatches  a  short  note  to  Marat ;  signifying  that  she 
is  from  Caen,  the  seat  of  rebellion;  that  she  desires  ear- 
nestly to  see  him,  and  "will  put  it  in  his  power  to  do 
France  a  great  service."  No  answer.  Charlotte  writes 
another  note,  still  more  pressing ;  sets  out  with  it  by  coach, 
about  seven  in  the  evening,  herself.  Tired  day  laborers 
have  again  finished  their  week;  huge  Paris  is  circling 
and  simmering,  manifold,  according  to  its  vague  wont: 
this  one  fair  figure  has  decision  in  it;  drives  straight, 
toward  a  purpose. 

It  is  yellow  July  evening,  we  say,  the  thirteenth  of  the 
month;  eve  of  the  Bastille  day,  when  "M.  jMarat,"  four 
years  ago,  in  the  crowd  of  the  Pont  Neuf,  shrewdly 
required  of  that  Besenval  hussar-party,  which  had  such 
friendly  dispositions,  "to  dismount,  and  give  up  their 
arms,  then;"  and  became  notable  among  patriot  men. 
Four  years;  what  a  road  he  has  traveled;  and  sits  now, 
about  half -past  seven  of  the  clock,  stewing  in  slipper  bath ; 
sore  afflicted ;  ill  of  revolution  fever,  of  what  other  malady 
this  history  had  rather  not  name.  Excessively  sick  and 
worn,  poor  man:  with  precisely  elevenpenny-half penny 


260  These  Splendid  Women 

of  ready-money,  in  paper;  with  slipper-bath;  strong  three- 
footed  stool  for  writing  on,  the  while;  and  a  squalid 
washerwoman,  one  may  call  her;  that  is  his  civic  estab- 
lishment in  Medical  School  street;  thither  and  not  else- 
whither has  his  road  led  him.  Not  to  the  reign  of 
brotherhood  and  perfect  felicity;  yet  surely  on  the  way 
toward  that?  Hark,  a  rap  again!  A  musical  woman's 
voice,  refusing  to  be  rejected:  it  is  the  citoyenne  who 
would  do  France  a  service.  Marat,  recognizing  from 
within,  cries,  admit  her.     Charlotte  Corday  is  admitted. 

Citoyen  Marat,  I  am  from  Caen  the  seat  of  rebellion, 
and  wished  to  speak  with  you.  Be  seated,  mon  enfant. 
Now  what  are  the  traitors  doing  at  Caen  ?  What  deputies 
are  at  Caen?  Charlotte  names  some  deputies.  "Their 
heads  shall  fall  within  a  fortnight,"  croaks  the  eager 
people's  friend,  clutching  his  tablets  to  write;  Barharoux, 
Petion,  writes  he  with  bare  shrunk  arm,  turning  aside  in 
the  bath:  Petion,  and  Louvret,  and  Charlotte  has  drawn 
her  knife  from  the  sheath;  plunges  it,  with  one  sure 
stroke,  into  the  writer's  heart.  ''A  moi,  chere  amie,  Help, 
dear!"  no  more  could  the  death-choked  say  or  shriek. 
The  helpful  washerwoman  running  in,  there  is  no  friend 
of  the  people,  or  friend  of  the  washerwoman  left;  but 
his  life  with  a  groan  gushes  out,  indignant,  to  the  shades 
below. 

And  so  Marat  people's-f  riend  is  ended ;  the  lone  Stylites 
has  got  hurled  down  suddenly  from  his  pillar,  whither- 
ward He  that  made  him  knows.  Patriot  Paris  may  sound 
triple  and  tenfold,  in  dole  and  wail ;  re-echoed  by  patriot 
France;  and  the  convention,  "Chabot  pale  with  terror, 
declaring  that  they  are  to  be  all  assassinated,"  may  decree 
him  Pantheon  honors,  public  funeral,  Mirabeau's  dust 
making  way  for  him;  and  Jacobin  societies,  in  lamentable 
oratory,  summing  up  his  character,  parallel  him  to  one, 
whom  they  think  it  honor  to  call  "the  good  Sansculotte," 
whom  we  name  not  here ;  also  a  chapel  may  be  made,  for 
the  urn  that  holds  his  heart,  in  the  Place  du  Carrousel; 


These  Splendid  Women  261 

and  new-born  children  be  named  Marat;  and  Lago-di- 
Como  hawkers  bake  mountains  of  stucco  into  unbeautiful 
busts;  and  David  paint  his  picture,  or  death-scene;  and 
such  other  apotheosis  take  place  as  the  human  genius, 
in  these  circumstances,  can  devise;  but  Marat  returns  no 
more  to  the  light  of  this  sun.  One  sole  circumstance  we 
have  read  with  clear  sympathy,  in  the  old  Moniteur  news- 
paper; how  Marat's  brother  comes  from  Neuchatel  to 
ask  of  the  convention,  "that  the  deceased  Jean-Paul 
Marat's  musket  be  given  to  him."  For  Marat  too  had  a 
brother  and  natural  affections;  and  was  wrapped  once  in 
swaddling-clothes  and  slept  safe  in  a  cradle  like  the  rest 
of  us.  Ye  children  of  men !  A  sister  of  his,  they  say, 
lives  still  to  this  day  in  Paris. 

As  for  Charlotte  Corday,  her  work  is  accomplished ;  the 
recompense  of  it  is  near  and  sure.  The  chere  ami,  and 
neighbors  of  the  house,  flying  at  her,  she  "overturns 
some  movables,"  entrenches  herself  till  the  gendarmes 
arrive ;  then  quietly  surrenders ;  goes  quietly  to  the  Abbaye 
prison;  she  alone  quiet,  all  Paris  sounding,  in  wonder, 
in  rage  or  admiration,  round  her.  Duperret  is  put  in 
arrest,  on  account  of  her;  his  papers  sealed,  which  may 
lead  to  consequences.  Fauchet,  in  like  manner;  though 
Fauchet  had  not  so  much  as  heard  of  her.  Charlotte, 
confronted  with  these  two  deputies,  praises  the  grave  firm- 
ness of  Duperret,  censures  the  dejection  of   Fauchet. 

On  Wednesday  morning,  the  thronged  Palais  de  Justice 
and  revolutionary  tribunal  can  see  her  face ;  beautiful  and 
calm;  she  dates  it  "fourth  day  of  the  preparation  of 
peace."  A  strange  murmur  ran  through  the  hall,  at  sight 
of  her ;  you  could  not  say  of  what  character.  Tinville  has 
his  indictments  and  tapepapers;  the  cutler  of  the  Palais 
Royal  will  testify  that  he  sold  her  the  sheath-knife;  "all 
these  details  are  needless,"  interrupted  Charlotte ;  "it  is  I 
that  killed  Marat."  By  whose  instigation?  "By  no 
one's."  What  tempted  you,  then  ?  His  crimes.  "I  killed 
one  man,"  added  she,  raising  her  voice  extremely   {ex- 


262  These  Splendid  Women 

tremement),  as  they  went  on  with  their  questions,  "I 
killed  one  man  to  save  a  hundred  thousand;  a  villain 
to  save  innocents;  a  savage  wild-beast  to  give  repose  to 
my  country.  I  was  a  republican  before  the  revolution;  I 
never  wanted  energy."  There  is  therefore  nothing  to  be' 
said.  The  public  gazes  astonished;  the  hasty  limners 
sketch  her  features,  Charlotte  not  disapproving;  the  men 
of  law  proceed  with  their  formalities.  The  doom  is  death 
as  a  murderess.  To  her  advocate  she  gives  thanks;  in 
gentle  phrase,  in  high-flown  classical  spirit.  To  the  priest 
they  send  her  she  gives  thanks;  but  needs  not  any  shriv- 
ing, any  ghostly  or  other  aid  from  him. 

On  this  same  evening  therefore,  about  half-past  seven 
o'clock,  from  the  gate  of  the  Conciergerie,  to  a  city  all 
on  tiptoe,  the  fatal  cart  issues;  seated  on  it  a  fair  young 
creature,  sheeted  in  red  smock  of  murderess ;  so  beautiful, 
serene,  so  full  of  life;  journeying  toward  death,  alone 
amid  the  world.  Many  take  oft  their  hats,  saluting  rev- 
erently; for  what  heart  but  must  be  touched?  Others 
growl  and  howl.  Adam  Lux,  of  Mentz,  declares  that  she 
is  greater  than  Brutus ;  that  it  were  beautiful  to  die  with 
her;  the  head  of  this  young  man  seems  turned.  At  the 
Place  de  la  Revolution,  the  countenance  of  Charlotte 
wears  the  same  still  smile.  The  executioners  proceed  to 
bind  her  feet ;  she  resists,  thinking  it  meant  as  an  insult ; 
on  a  word  of  explanation,  she  submits  with  cheerful 
apology.  As  the  last  act,  all  being  now  ready,  they  take 
the  neckerchief  from  her  neck !  a  blush  of  maidenly  shame 
overspreads  that  fair  face  and  neck;  the  cheeks  were  still 
tinged  with  it  when  the  executioner  lifted  the  severed 
head,  to  show  it  to  the  people.  "It  is  most  true,"  says 
Forster,  "that  he  struck  the  cheek  insultingly ;  for  I  saw  it 
with  my  eyes;  the  police  imprisoned  him  for  it." 

In  this  manner  have  the  beautifulest  and  the  squalidest 
come  in  collision,  and  extinguished  one  another.  Jean- 
Paul  Marat  and  Marie-Anne  Charlotte  Corday  both,  sud- 
denly, are  no  more.    "Day  of  the  preparation  of  peace?" 


These  Splendid  Women  263 

Alas,  how  were  peace  possible  or  preparable,  while  for 
example,  the  hearts  of  lovely  maidens,  in  their  convent- 
stillness,  are  dreaming,  not  of  love-paradises  and  the  light 
of  Hfe,  but  of  Cordrus'-sacrifices  and  death  well-earned? 
That  twenty-five  million  hearts  have  got  to  such  temper, 
this  is  the  anarchy;  the  soul  of  it  lies  in  this;  whereof 
not  peace  can  be  the  embodiment!  The  death  of  Marat, 
whetting  old  animosities  tenfold,  will  be  worse  than  any 
life.  Oh  ye  hapless  two,  mutually  extinctive,  the  beauti- 
ful and  the  squalid,  sleep  ye  well,  in  the  mother's  bosom 
that  bore  you  both ! 

This  is  the  history  of  Charlotte  Corday ;  most  definite, 
most  complete ;  angelic-daemonic :  like  a  star  1  Adam  Lux 
goes  home,  half-delirious ;  to  pour  forth  his  apotheosis  of 
her,  in  paper  and  print ;  to  propose  that  she  have  a  statue 
with  this  inscription.  Greater  than  Brutus.  Friends  rep- 
resent his  danger ;  Lux  is  reckless ;  thinks  it  were  beautiful 
to  die  with  her. 


Catherine  the  Qreat 

By  K.  WALIZEWSKI 

TO  tell  the  truth,  I  have  never  fancied  myself  ex-. 
tremely  beautiful,  but  I  had  the  gift  of  pleas- 
ing, and  that,  I  think,  was  my  greatest  gift."  So 
Catherine  herself  defines  the  particular  kind  of  attrac- 
tion that  nature  had  given  her  in  outward  appearance." 
Thus,  having  passed  all  her  life  in  hearing  herself  com- 
pared to  all  the  Cleopatras  of  history,  she  did  not  admit 
the  justice  of  the  comparison.  Not  that  she  underrated 
its  worth.  ^'Believe  me,"  she  wrote  to  Grimm,  "there  can 
never  be  too  much  of  beauty,  and  I  have  always  placed 
a  very  high  estimation  on  it,  though  I  have  never  been 
very  beautiful."  Did  she  deliberately  depreciate  her 
charms,  through  a  modest  ignorance  or  an  artifice  of  re- 
fined coquetry  ?  One  is  tempted  to  believe  it,  on  hearing 
the  almost  unanimous  opinion  of  her  contemporaries. 
The  "Semiramis  of  the  North"  flashed  across  the  latter 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  over  the  very  thresh- 
old of  the  nineteenth,  as  a  marvellous  incarnation,  not 
only  of  power,  grandeur,  and  triumphant  success,  but 
also  of  adorable  and  adored  femininity.  In  the  eyes  of 
all,  or  nearly  all,  she  was  not  only  imposing,  majestic, 
terrible,  but  also  seductive,  beautiful  among  the  beautiful, 
queen  by  right  of  beauty  as  by  right  of  genius,  Pallas 
and  Venus  Victrix. 

Well,  it  seems  that  her  contemporaries  saw  the  n  ar- 
vellous  Czarina  in  a  sort  of  mirage.  The  illusion  was  so 
complete  that  it  extended  to  the  most  apparent  and  the 


These  Splendid  Women  265 

most  insignificant  details.  Thus,  the  greater  part  of  those 
who  came  into  her  presence  speak  of  her  lofty  stature, 
by  which  she  dominated  a  crowd.  Now,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  was  under  the  middle  height,  short  almost,  with 
a  precocious  tendency  to  grow  stout.  The  very  color  of 
her  eyes  has  given  rise  to  absurd  contradictions.  Some 
found  them  brown,  others  blue,  and  Rulhiere  has  tried 
to  harmonize  both  accounts  by  making  them  brown  with 
a  shade  of  blue  in  some  lights.  Here  is  his  whole  por- 
trait— a  portrait  which  belongs  to  the  period  a  little  be- 
fore Catherine's  accession  to  the  throne,  at  the  age  of 
thirty-seven.  No  portrait  of  an  earlier  date  has  come 
down  to  us  with  anything  like  so  much  detail:  Ponia- 
towski's  is  only  four  or  five  years  earlier  in  date,  and 
is  a  lover's  portrait. 

"Her  figure,"  writes  Rulhiere,  "is  noble  and  agreeable, 
her  bearing  proud ;  her  person  and  her  demeanour  full  of 
grace.  Her  air  is  that  of  a  sovereign.  All  her  features 
indicate  character.  Her  neck  is  long,  her  head  stands  out 
well ;  the  union  of  these  two  parts  is  of  remarkable  beauty, 
aHke  in  the  profile  and  in  the  movements  of  the  head; 
and  she  is  not  unmindful  of  her  beauty  in  this  respect. 
Her  forehead  is  large  and  open,  her  nose  almost  acquiline ; 
her  mouth  is  fresh,  and  embellished  by  her  teeth ;  her  chin 
a  little  large,  and  inclined  to  fleshiness.  Her  hair  is 
chestnut  in  colour,  and  of  the  greatest  beauty;  her  eye- 
brows brown,  her  eyes  brown  and  very  beautiful — in 
certain  lights  there  seem  to  be  shades  of  blue;  and  her 
skin  is  of  dazzling  whiteness.  Pride  is  the  main  charac- 
teristic of  her  physiognomy.  The  amiability  and  good- 
nature which  are  also  to  be  seen  there  seem,  to  a 
penetrating  eye,  merely  the  effect  of  an  extreme  desire 
to  make  a  pleasing  impression." 

Rulhiere  is  neither  a  lover  nor  an  enthusiast.  Compare, 
however,  with  this  sketch  the  sketch  done  in  pencil  about 
this  time  by  a  Russian  artist,  Tchemessof.  There  is  a 
story  that  this  portrait  was  made  at  the  desire  of  Patiom- 


266  These  Splendid  Women 

kine,  whom  Catherine  began  to  favor  just  after,  or  per- 
haps just  before,  the  revolution  of  July.  Catherine  was 
very  pleased  with  it,  and  took  the  artist  into  her  service 
as  secretary  to  her  cabinet.  And  yet  what  an  Empress 
this  Tchemessof  shows  us,  and  how  unHke  all  that  we  see 
of  other  painters,  sculptors,  and  memoir-writers,  from 
Benner  to  Lampi,  from  Rulhiere  to  the  Prince  de  Ligne ! 
The  face  is  agreeable  indeed,  if  you  will,  and  intelligent, 
but  so  little  ideal,  but — dare  one  say  it? — so  common. 
The  costume  perhaps  has  something  to  do  with  this,  a 
strange  mourning  attire  with  the  hair  oddly  dressed,  cov- 
ering the  forehead  down  to  the  eyebrows,  and  overtopping 
the  head  with  a  pair  of  bats'-wings.  But  the  hard,  smil- 
ing face,  the  heavy,  half -masculine  features,  stand  out 
with  a  brutal  frankness.  You  would  say  a  German 
vivandiere  turned  into  a  nun.     Cleopatra,  never ! 

Was  Tchemessof  a  deceiver,  and  did  Catherine,  in  see- 
ing herself  in  the  portrait,  merely  show  that  total  ig- 
norance of  art  which  she  afterwards  confessed  with  such 
candor  to  Falconet?  It  may  be,  to  a  certain  point.  We 
have  nevertheless  a  sort  of  duplicate  of  the  Russian  artisfs 
sketch  in  a  written  portrait  done  some  years  later  by 
Richardson,  who  seems  to  have  had  a  mind  and  eyes  of 
his  own,  not  to  be  taken  in  by  any  kind  of  illusion.  This 
is  how  he  notes  his  impressions : — 

"The  Empress  of  Russia  is  under  the  middle  height, 
graceful  and  well-proportioned,  but  inclining  to  be  stout. 
She  has  a  good  color,  and  nevertheless  endeavors  to 
improve  it  with  rouge,  after  the  manner  of  all  the  women 
of  this  country.  Her  mouth  is  well-shaped,  with  good 
teeth ;  her  blue  eyes  have  a  scrutinizing  expression — some- 
thing not  so  pronounced  as  an  inquisitive  look,  nor  so 
ugly  as  a  defiant  look.  The  features  are  in  general  regu- 
lar and  agreeable.  The  general  effect  is  such,  that  one 
would  do  an  injustice  in  attributing  to  it  a  masculine  air, 
and  something  less  than  justice  in  calling  it  entirely 
feminine." 


These  Splendid  Women  267 

This  is  not  exactly  in  the  tone  of  the  naif  and  all  but 
gross  realism  of  Tchemessof.  A  common  trait,  however, 
appears  in  both,  and  it  is  what  would  seem  to  have  been 
the  dominant  trait  of  the  model,  and,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  plastic  beauty,  to  have  considerably  diminished, 
if  not  destroyed,  its  charm:  that  mannish  expression, 
namely,  which  is  emphasized  in  both,  and  which  we  find, 
through  all  the  magic  of  colors,  in  the  work  of  even  the 
least  conscientious  of  artists.  The  portrait  that  was  the 
delight  of  Voltaire,  and  is  still  to  be  seen  at  Ferney — even 
that  betrays  something  of  it.  Catherine  was  nevertheless 
observant  in  the  matter,  and  down  to  the  very  last.  A 
wrinkle  that  she  discovered  near  the  root  of  the  nose  in 
the  portrait  painted  by  Lampi,  not  long  before  her  death, 
seeming  to  her  to  give  a  hard  expression  to  her  face, 
brought  both  picture  and  painter  into  trouble.  Lampi 
nevertheless,  and  quite  justly,  had  the  reputation  of  not 
saying  the  truth  too  cruelly  to  his  models.  He  effaced 
the  wrinkle,  and  the  all  but  septuagenarian  Empress  took 
the  air  of  a  young  nymph.  History  does  not  tell  us  if 
she  was  satisfied  this  time. 

"What  do  you  think  I  look  like?'*  asked  Catherine  of 
the  Prince  de  Ligne,  on  his  first  visit  to  St.  Petersburg ; 
"long,  lanky,  eyes  like  stars,  and  a  big  hoop."  This  was 
in  1780.  The  Empress  was  fifty.  This  is  what  the 
Prince  de  Ligne  thought  of  her :  "She  still  looked  well. 
One  saw  that  she  had  been  beautiful  rather  than  pretty : 
the  majesty  of  her  forehead  was  tempered  by  her  pleasant 
eyes  and  smile,  but  the  forehead  was  everything.  ^  It 
needed  no  Lavater  to  read  there,  as  in  a  book,  genius, 
justice,  courage,  depth,  equanimity,  sweetness,  calm,  and 
decision:  the  breadth  of  the  forehead  indicated  memory 
and  imagination;  there  was  room  for  everything.  ^  Her 
chin,  somewhat  pointed,  was  not  absolutely  prominent, 
but  it  was  anything  but  retiring,  and  had  a  certain  nobility 
of  aspect.  The  oval,  notwithstanding,  was  not  well  de- 
signed, though  excessively  pleasing,   for  frankness  and 


268  These  Splendid  Women 

gaiety  dwelt  on  the  lips.  Her  fine  bust  had  been  acquired 
somewhat  at  the  expense  of  her  waist,  once  so  terribly 
thin ;  but  people  generally  grow  fat  in  Russia.  If  she  had 
not  so  tightly  drawn  back  her  hair,  which  should  have 
come  down  more  around  her  face,  she  would  have  looked 
much  better.    One  never  noticed  that  she  was  short." 

Again  an  enthusiast,  but  the  Comte  de  Segur,  who 
piqued  himself  on  being  less  so,  in  his  quality  of  diplo- 
matist, noted  at  the  same  time  almost  identically  the  same 
traits.  *'The  whiteness  and  brilliance  of  her  complexion," 
he  says,  "were  the  charms  that  she  kept  the  longest." 
But  Castera  explains  in  his  own  way  her  triumph  over 
the  "irreparable  outrage" :  "In  the  last  year  of  her  reign 
she  used  a  great  deal  of  rouge."  It  is  just  this  that 
Catherine  would  never  confess  to.  We  read  in  one  of  her 
letters  to  Grimm,  dated  1783  : — 

"Thank  you  for  the  pots  of  rouge  with  which  you  ad- 
vise me  to  brighten  my  complexion;  but  when  I  tried  to 
use  it,  I  found  that  it  was  so  crude  in  colour  that  it  made 
me  look  frightful.  So  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  cannot 
imitate  or  adopt  this  pretty  fashion,  notwithstanding  my 
great  liking  for  your  Paris  fashions." 

The  most  authoritative,  the  least  impressive,  testimony, 
from  the  plastic  point  of  view,  is  perhaps  that  of  Mile. 
Vigee-Lebrun,  who,  unfortunately  never  saw  Catherine  in 
her  best  days.  She  had  nothing  to  praise  in  the  conduct  of 
the  sovereign,  so  far  a  guarantee  of  her  sincerity.  She 
could  not  induce  the  Empress  to  pose  to  her.  Her  brush, 
later  on,  did  no  more  than  evoke  certain  recollections.  Pen 
in  hand,  she  retraced  them  thus : — 

"I  was  at  first  extremely  surprised  to  find  that  she  was 
short ;  I  had  expected  her  to  be  mighty  in  stature,  as  high 
as  her  renown.  She  was  very  stout,  but  she  had  still  a 
handsome  face,  admirably  framed  in  by  her  white  hair, 


These  Splendid  Women  269 

raised  up  on  her  head.  Genius  sat  on  her  large  high  fore- 
head ;  her  eyes  were  soft  and  clear,  her  nose  quite  Grecian, 
her  complexion  bright,  her  physiognomy  very  mobile. 
.  .  .  I  said  she  was  short;  yet  on  her  reception  days, 
her  head  held  high,  her  eagle  glance,  the  composure  that 
comes  of  the  habit  of  command,  all  in  her  had  such 
majesty  that  she  seemed  to  me  the  queen  of  the  world. 
She  wore  on  these  occasions  the  insigna  of  three  orders, 
and  her  costume  was  simple  and  dignified.  It  consisted 
in  a  tunic  of  muslin  embroidered  with  gold,  the  ample 
sleeves  folded  across  in  the  Asiatic  style.  Above  this 
tunic  was  a  dolman  of  red  velvet  with  very  short  sleeves. 
The  bonnet  that  framed  in  her  white  hair  was  not  decked 
with  ribbons,  but  with  diamonds  of  the  greatest  beauty." 

Catherine  had  early  adopted  the  habit  of  holding  her 
head  very  high  in  public,  and  she  kept  it  all  her  Hfe. 
Aided  by  her  prestige,  this  gave  her  an  effect  of  height 
that  deceived  even  observers  like  Richardson.  The  art  of 
mise  en  scene,  in  which  she  was  incomparable,  has  re- 
mained a  tradition  at  the  court  of  Russia.  A  court  lady 
at  Vienna  once  gave  us  her  impressions  of  the  arrival  of 
the  Emperor  Nicholas  in  that  capital.  When  she  saw  him 
enter  the  castle,  in  all  the  splendor  of  his  uniform,  his 
virile  beauty,  and  that  air  of  majesty  that  shone  in  his 
whole  person,  upright,  lofty  in  stature,  a  head  taller  than 
the  princes,  aides-de-camp,  and  chamberlains,  she  felt  that 
here  was  a  demigod.  In  the  upper  gallery,  where  she 
was  placed,  she  could  not  turn  away  her  eyes  from  the 
sight.  Suddenly,  she  saw  that  the  swarm  of  courtiers  had 
retired,  the  doors  were  closed.  Only  the  imperial  family 
and  a  few  of  the  private  retinue  remained.  But  the  Em- 
peror— where  was  he?  There,  sunk  into  a  seat,  his  tall 
form  doubled  in  upon  itself,  the  muscles  of  his  face  re- 
leased from  constraint,  settling  into  an  expression  of  un- 
speakable anguish;  unrecognizable,  only  the  half  of  him- 
self, as  if   fallen   from  the  height  of   grandeur  to  the 


270  These  Splendid  Women 

depth  of  misery,  the  demigod  was  but  a  handful  of  suf- 
fering human  flesh.  This  was  in  1850.  Nicholas  was  then 
already  stricken  by  the  first  attacks  of  the  disease  that 
undermined  the  last  years  of  his  life,  and  prematurely 
ended  it.  Withdrawn  from  the  eyes  of  the  crowd,  he 
bowed  beneath  its  weight.  Before  the  public,  by  an  heroic 
effort  of  will,  he  became  once  more  the  splendid  Emperor 
of  the  past.  Perhaps  it  was  so  with  Catherine  in  the 
last  years  of  her  reign. 

The  Princess  of  Saxe-Coburg,  who  saw  her  for  the  first 
time  in  1795,  begins  her  account  of  the  meeting  unpleas- 
antly enough,  saying  that  she  always  fancied  a  sorceress 
must  look  much  as  did  the  old  Empress.  But  the  sequel 
shows  that  her  idea  of  a  sorceress  was  by  no  means  dis- 
agreeable. She  praises  in  particular  the  "singularly  fine 
complexion"  retained  by  the  Empress,  and  says  that  in 
general  she  seemed  to  find  in  her  "the  personification  of 
robust  old  age,  though  abroad  there  is  much  talk  of  her 
maladies." 

Catherine,  nevertheless,  had  never  very  good  health. 
She  suffered  much  from  headaches,  accompanied  by  colics. 
This  did  not  prevent  her  from  laughing  at  physics  and 
physicians  to  the  very  last.  It  was  quite  an  affair  to 
make  her  swallow  a  potion.  One  day  when  her  doctor, 
Rogerson,  had  succeeded  in  making  her  take  some  pills, 
he  was  so  delighted  as  to  forget  himself,  and  clapped 
her  familiarly  on  the  shoulder,  crying,  "Bravo,  madame !" 
She  was  not  in  the  least  offended. 

From  1722  she  was  obliged  to  use  glasses  to  read. 
Her  hearing,  though  very  sharp,  was  affected  by  an  odd 
peculiarity :  each  of  her  ears  heard  sounds  in  a  different 
way,  not  merely  in  loudness,  but  in  tone.  This  no  doubt 
was  the  reason  why  she  could  never  appreciate  music, 
hard  as  she  tried  to  acquire  the  taste.  Her  sense  of 
harmony  was  completely  lacking. 

It  was  pretended  that  when  the  scarves  in  which  she 
was  accustomed  to  wrap  up  her  head  at  night  came  to 


These  Splendid  Women  27 1 

be  washed,  they  were  seen  to  emit  sparks.  The  same 
phenomenon  occurred  with  her  bedclothes.  Such  fables 
only  serve  to  indicate  her  actual  physical  influence  over 
the  minds  of  her  contemporaries,  marvelling  just  then 
over  the  mysterious  discoveries  of  Franklin. 

"I  assure  you,"  she  writes  in  1774  to  Grimm,  "that 
I  have  not  the  defects  you  impute  to  me,  because  I  do  not 
find  in  myself  the  qualities  that  you  give  me.  I  am,  per- 
haps, good-natured,  ordinarily,  but,  by  nature,  I  am  con- 
strained to  will  terribly  what  I  will,  and  there  you  have 
what  I  am  worth." 

Observe,  however,  that  if,  as  a  general  thmg,  she  is 
persevering  in  the  exercise  and  in  the  invariable  tension 
of  this  natural  energy,  having  always  willed,  according  to 
her  expression,  "that  the  good  of  the  empire  should  be 
accomplished,"  and  having  willed  it  with  extraordinary 
force,  in  small  things  she  is  inconstancy  itself.  She  wills 
everything  strongly,  but  she  changes  her  mind  with  a  no 
less  surprising  facility,  as  her  idea  of  what  is  "good" 
varies.  In  this  respect  she  is  a  woman,  from  head  to  foot. 
In  1767  she  devotes  herself  to  her  Instruction  for  the 
new  laws  that  she  would  give  to  Russia.  This  work,  in 
which  she  has  pillaged  Montesquieu  and  Beccaria,  is  in 
her  eyes  destined  to  open  a  new  era  in  the  history  of 
Russia.  And  she  wills,  ardently,  passionately,  that  it 
should  be  put  into  action.  Difficulties,  however,  arise; 
unlooked-for  delays  interpose  themselves.  Whereupon, 
all  at  once,  she  loses  interest  in  the  thing.  In  1775  she 
excogitates  Rules  for  the  administration  of  her  provinces. 
And  she  writes:  "My  last  rules  of  the  7th  November 
contain  250  quarto  pages  of  print,  and  I  swear  to  you 
that  it  is  the  best  thing  I  have  ever  done,  and  that, 
in  comparison,  I  look  upon  the  Instruction  as  so  much 
nonsense."  And  she  is  dying  with  desire  to  show  this 
new   masterpiece   to   her   confidant.     Less   than  a  year 


272  These  Splendid  Wo7?ien 

afterwards  it  is  finished.  Grimm  has  not  had  sight 
of  the  document,  and  as  he  insists  on  being  favored 
with  it,  she  loses  patience:  "Why  is  he  so  anxious  to 
read  anything  so  little  amusing?  It  is  very  good,  very 
fine,  perhaps,  but  quite  tedious."  At  the  end  of  a  month 
she  has  forgotten  all  about  it. 

She  has  the  same  way  with  men  as  with  things; 
sudden,  passionate  infatuations,  of  an  unexampled  im- 
petuosity, followed  by  disenchantments  and  by  an  equally 
rapid  subsidence  into  the  most  complete  indifference.  The 
greater  part  of  the  able  men  whom  she  drew  to  Russia, 
Diderot  among  the  rest,  experienced  it  in  turn.  After  hav- 
ing passed  twenty  years  of  her  reign  in  adoring  dif- 
ferent residences  which  have  been  successively  preferred 
and  preferable  in  her  eyes,  she  takes  a  fancy,  all  of  a 
sudden,  in  1786,  to  a  site  near  St.  Petersburg,  which 
has  no  advantages  in  itself.  She  summons  the  Russian 
architect  Starof,  of  the  Academy  of  St.  Petersburg,  to 
build  a  palace  there  in  all  haste;  and  she  writes  to 
Grimm:  "All  my  country  houses  are  as  hovels  in  com- 
parison with  Pella,  which  is  rising  like  a  phoenix." 

Not  being  wanting,  by  any  means,  either  in  common 
sense  or  in  acuteness,  she  comes  to  find  out,  late  enough, 
what  we  have  just  noted.  "Two  days  ago,"  she  writes 
in  1781,  "I  made  the  discovery  that  I  am  a  beginner  by 
profession,  and  that  up  to  now  I  have  finished  nothing 
of  all  that  I  have  begun."  And  a  year  afterwards: 
"For  all  that,  I  only  want  the  time  to  finish;  it  is 
like  my  laws,  my  regulations:  everything  is  begun,  noth- 
ing finished."  She  has  her  illusions,  however,  and  she 
adds:  "If  I  live  ten  years  longer,  all  will  be  finished 
to  perfection."  Two  years  and  more  having  passed,  she 
ends  by  perceiving  that  time  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter.  "Never  have  I  so  com.pletely  realized  that  I  am 
a  very  accumulation  of  broken  ends,"  she  declares,  not 
without  a  certain  melancholy.  To  which  she  adds,  that 
she  is  "as  stupid  as  a  goose,"  and  that  she  is  convinced 


These  Splendid  Women  273 

Prince  Patiomkine  had  much  more  notion  of  good  man- 
agement than  she. 

She  would  not  be  a  woman  if  it  did  not  sometimes 
happen  to  her  not  to  know  very  well  what  she  wanted, 
or  even  not  know  it  at  all,  while  she  was  very  much  in 
want  of  something.  Apropos  of  a  certain  Wagniere, 
who  was  secretary  to  Voltaire,  whose  services  she  de- 
sired for  herself,  and  whom,  after  all,  she  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with,  she  writes  to  her  souffre-douleur : — 

"A  truce  to  your  excuses  .  .  .  and  to  mine,  for 
not  knowing  exactly,  now  as  often,  what  I  wanted,  nor 
what  I  did  not  want,  and  for  having  consequently  writ- 
ten for  and  against.  ...  If  you  will,  I  will  found 
a  professorship,  in  addition  to  the  one  you  counsel,  on 
the  science  of  indecision,  more  natural  to  me  than  people 
think." 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  a  disposition  of  this  kind  is 
not  made  to  give  a  firm  and  well-balanced  direction  to 
the  affairs  of  an  empire.  And,  indeed,  nothing  of  the 
kind  is  to  be  found  in  the  part  that  Catherine  played 
in  history.  If  this  part  was  a  large  one,  it  was — as  she 
well  knew  herself — because  she  had  to  do  with  a  new 
people,  at  the  first  stage  of  its  career,  the  stage  of  ex- 
pansion. In  this  stage  a  people  has  no  need  of  being 
directed;  for  the  most  part,  it  is  not  even  susceptible  of 
direction.  It  is  an  "impelled  force,"  which  follows  its 
own  impulsion.  In  obeying  it,  it  is  in  no  danger  of 
going  astray.  The  sole  misfortune  of  which  it  is  capable 
is  that  of  falling  asle^.  It  would  be  vain  and  useless 
to  take  such  a  nation  by  the  hand,  and  lead  it  into  the 
way  that  it  knows  so  well  how  to  find  by  itself.  It 
suffices  to  give  it  a  shaking,  and  start  it  forward  from 
time  to  time.  That  is  what  Catherine  understood  in  the 
most  wonderful  way.  Her  action  was  that  of  a  stimu- 
lant and  a  propeller  of  prodigious  vigor. 


274  These  Splendid  Women 

In  this  respect  she  bears  comparison  with  the  greatest 
men  of  history.  Her  soul  is  like  a  spring,  always  at 
full  tension,  always  vibrating,  of  a  temper  which  resists 
every  test.  In  the  month  of  August  1765  she  is  unwell, 
and  is  keeping  her  bed.  Rumors  are  spread  that  she 
is  enceinte,  and  that  an  abortion  is  to  be  procured. 
Nevertheless  she  has  arranged  for  some  great  manoeuvres, 
"a  camp,"  as  it  was  called  then,  for  the  end  of  the  month, 
and  she  has  announced  that  she  will  be  present.  She  is 
present.  The  last  day,  during  the  "battle,"  she  remains 
on  horseback  for  five  hours,  having  to  direct  the  ma- 
noeuvres and  to  send  orders,  by  the  intermediary  of  her 
aide-de-camp,  to  Marshal  Boutourline  and  to  General 
Prince  Galitzine,  who  command  the  two  wings  of  the 
army.  The  aide-de-camp,  glittering  in  a  cuirass  of  gold 
studded  with  jewels,  is  Gregory  Orlof.  Some  months 
later,  riots  having  broken  out  in  the  capital,  she  comes 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  from  Tzarskoie-Sielo  to  St. 
Petersburg  with  Orlof,  Passek,  and  a  few  other  trusty 
friends,  mounts  on  horseback,  and  traverses  the  streets 
to  make  sure  that  her  orders  have  been  properly  carried 
out,  and  proper  precautions  taken.  Even  now  she  has 
not  fully  recovered  from  the  more  or  less  mysterious 
crisis  that  she  has  passed  through.  She  can  take  no 
nourishment.  She,  however,  thinks  well  to  appear  cheer- 
ful and  in  good  health.  Festivity  follows  festivity;  the 
French  play  comes  to  Tzarskoie. 

Physical  or  moral  dejection,  lassitude,  or  discourage- 
ment, are  things  equally  unknown  to  her.  Her  force  of 
resistance  seems  to  increase  in  proportion  to  the  demand 
upon  it.  In  1791,  when  things  lodk  dark  about  her,  when 
she  has  to  face  Sweden  and  Turkey,  and  is  in  danger  of 
a  rupture  with  England,  she  has,  or  affects  to  have,  the 
most  tranquil  serenity,  the  most  contagious  good  humor. 
She  laughs  and  jests;  advises  those  about  her  to  give  up 
English  liquors  in  good  time,  and  get  accustomed  to  the 
national   drinks. 


I 


These  Splendid  Women  275 

And  what  *'go";  what  ardor,  for  ever  youthful; 
what  impetuousness,  never  relaxed  ! 

"Courage!  Forward!  That  is  the  motto  with  which 
I  have  passed  through  good  years  and  bad  years  alike, 
and  now 'I  have  passed  through  forty,  all  told,  and  what 
is  the  present  evil  compared  with  the  past  ?" 

That  is  her  habitual  tone.  The  force  of  will  that 
she  has  at  command  allows  her  both  to  control  the  out- 
ward expression  of  her  feelings,  and  even  to  abstract 
herself  when  she  will  from  these  feelings  when  they  be- 
come troublesome,  intense  as  they  may  be,  for  she  is 
far  from  being  indifferent,  or  hard  to  move,  or  naturally 
calm.  Sang-froid,  for  instance,  is  not  at  all  a  part  of 
her  disposition.  In  May  1790,  on  the  eve  of  a  sea-fight 
with  Svv^eden,  she  passes  whole  nights  without  sleep,  puts 
every  one  about  her  on  pins  and  needles,  gets  a  rongeur 
on  her  cheek,  which  she  attributes  to  the  acuteness  of 
her  emotions,  and  behaves  in  such  a  way  that  every  one, 
including  her  Prime  Minister,  Besborodko,  bursts  into 
tears.  No  sooner  has  she  known  the  issue  of  the  battle 
than  her  peace  of  mind  is  restored,  and  no  matter  what 
bad  news  may  follow,  she  is  gay  and  light-hearted  again. 
Every  moment  she  is  passing  through  some  fever  or 
other.  She  falls  ill  with  anxiety,  and  has  colics.  One 
day  Chrapowicki,  her  factotum,  finds  her  lying  on  a  sofa, 
complaining  of  pains  in  the  region  of  her  heart.  "It  is 
the  bad  weather,  no  doubt,"  says  he,  "that  indisposes 
your  Majesty."  "No,"  replies  she,  "it  is  Otchakof ;  the 
fortress  will  be  taken  to-day  or  to-morrow;  I  have  often 
such  presentiments."  These  presentiments  often  prove 
deceptive,  as  in  the  present  case,  for  Otchakof  was  not 
taken  till  two  months  after.  On  hearing  the  news  of 
the  death  of  Louis  XVL,  she  receives  such  a  shock  that 
she  is  obliged  to  take  to  her  bed.  It  is  true  that,  this 
time,  she  makes  no  attempt  to  master  or  to  dissimulate 
her  emotion,  which,  however,  is  not  inspired  only  by  a 
sentiment   of   political   solidarity,    for   the   fibres   of   her 


276  These  Splendid  Women 

heart  are  extremely  excitable.  She  has  not  merely  "sen- 
sibility," after  the  fashion  of  the  day;  she  is  sincerely 
accessible  to  sympathy  and  pity. 

"I  forgot  to  drink,  eat,  and  sleep,"  she  writes  in  1776, 
announcing  the  death  of  her  daughter-in-law,  "and  I 
know  not  how  I  kept  up  my  strength.  There  were  mo- 
ments when  my  very  heart  was  torn  by  the  suffering 
I  saw  about  me." 

This  does  not  hinder  her  from  adding  to  the  letter, 
which  is  lengthy,  a  host  of  details  concerning  current 
affairs,  with  the  usual  jokes,  a  little  heavy,  which  serve 
to  season  her  familiar  correspondence.  After  giving  her- 
self up  to  her  impressions,  she  returns  to  herself,  and 
she  explains  it  all : — 

"On  Friday  I  seemed  to  turn  to  stone.  ...  I  who 
am  so  given  to  weeping,  saw  death  without  a  tear.  I 
said  to  myself :  *If  thou  weep,  the  others  will  sob ;  if 
thou  sob,  the  others  will  faint,  and  every  one  will  lose 
their  head  and  their  wits.'  " 

She  never  lost  her  head,  and,  she  declares  in  one  of 
her  letters,  she  never  fainted.  Whenever  she  has  to  play 
a  part,  to  take  an  attitude,  and,  by  her  example,  to  im- 
pose it  upon  others,  she  is  always  ready.  In  August 
1790  she  thinks  seriously  of  accompanying  the  army 
reserve  to  Finland.  "Had  it  been  needful,"  she  said 
afterwards,  "I  should  have  left  my  bones  in  the  last 
battalion.     I  have  never  known  fear," 

With  our  present-day  notions,  it  does  not  seem  a  very 
signal  proof  of  courage  that  she  gave  in  1768,  in  being 
the  first,  or  almost  the  first,  in  her  capital  and  in  her 
empire,  to  be  inoculated.  For  the  time  it  was  a  great 
event,  and  an  act  of  heroism  celebrated  by  all  her  con- 
temporaries. One  need  but  read  the  notes  written  on 
the  subject  by  the  inoculator  himself,  the  Englishman 
Dimsdale,  expressly  brought  over  from  London,  to  realize 


These  Splendid  Women  277 

the  idea  that  the  profession  itself  still  cherished  in  regard 
to  the  danger  of  the  operation.     We  cut  open  or  trepan 
a  man  to-day  with  much  less  concern.     Catherine  bared 
her  arm  to  the  lancet  on  the  26th   October   1768.     A 
week  afterwards   she  had  her   son  inoculated.     On  the 
22nd  of  November  the  members  of  the  legislative  com- 
mission, and  all  the  chief  dignitaries,  assembled  in  the 
church  of  Our  Lady  of  Kasan,  where  a  decree  of  the 
senate  was  read,  commanding  public  prayers  for  the  oc- 
casion ;  after  which  they  went  in  a  body  to  present  their 
compliments  and  thanks  to  her  Majesty.    A  boy  of  seven, 
named  Markof,  who  had  been  inoculated  first  of  all,  in 
order  to  use  the  lymph  found  on  him,  was  ennobled  in 
return  for  it,  and  received  the  surname  of   Ospiennyi 
(0^^a__smallpox).     Catherine  took  a  liking  to  him,  and 
had  him  brought  up  under  her  eyes.    The  family  of  this 
name,  now  occupying  a  high  position  in  Russia,  owes  its 
fortune  to  this  ancestor.    Dr.  Dimsdale  received  the  title 
of  baron,  the  honorary  charge  of  the  physicians  in  ordi- 
nary to  her  Majesty,  the  rank  of   Chancellor  of  State, 
and  a  pension  of  £500  sterling.     It  was  certainly  much 
ado  about  nothing;  but  some  years  later,  in   1772,  the 
Abbe  Galiani  announced,  as  still  an  important  piece  of 
news,  the  inoculation  of  the  son  of  the  Prince  of   San 
Angelo  Imperiali  at  Naples,  the  first  that  had  taken  place 
in  that  city.     In  1768  Voltaire  himself  found  much  to 
admire  in  an  Empress  who  had  been  inoculated   *Vith 
less  ceremony  than  a  nun  who  takes  a  bath."    Catherine  is 
perhaps  the  one  who  thought  least  of  her  bravery.     Be- 
fore the  deputations  that  came  to  compliment  her,  she 
thought  it  well  to  take  a  serious  air,  declaring  "that  she 
had   done  no   more  than  her   duty,   for  a  shepherd   is 
bound  to  give  his  life  for  his  sheep."    But,  writing  a  few 
days   afterwards   to    General    Braun,   the    Governor    of 
Livonia,  she  laughs  at  those  who  are  lost  in  admiration 
of  her  courage:     "As  for  courage,  I  think  every  little 


278  These  Splendid  Women 

urchin  in  the  streets  of    London    has    just    as    much." 

Certainly,  she  possesses  a  happy  equiHbrium  of  fac- 
ulties, an  excellent  moral  health.  It  is  this  which  renders 
her  easy  to  get  on  with,  though  she  has  perhaps  less 
indulgence  and  benignity  than  she  would  credit  herself 
with,  but  still  is  in  no  wise  given  to  wrangling,  nor 
excessively  hard  to  please,  nor  unreasonably  severe. 
Outside  official  ceremonies,  in  regard  to  which  she 
is  very  particular,  giving  to  them  the  greatest  pos- 
sible lustre,  she  is  full  of  charm  in  her  intercourse 
with  others.  She  has  an  easy  simplicity  which  puts  every 
one  at  ease,  and  which  allows  her  to  maintain  her  own 
rank,  and  to  keep  others  in  their  proper  place,  without 
her  appearing  to  give  the  matter  a  thought.  On  the 
birth  of  her  grandson,  Alexander,  she  falls  to  regretting 
that  there  are  no  more  fairies  "to  endow  little  children 
with  all  one  would  like  them  to  have,"  and  she  writes 
to  Grimm:  "For  my  part,  I  would  give  them  nice  pres- 
ents, and  I  would  whisper  in  their  ear:  'Ladies,  be  nat- 
ural, only  be  natural,  and  experience  will  do  pretty  well 
all  the  rest.'  "  She  is  hon  enfant,  and  puts  on  a  familiar 
manner.  She  hits  her  secretary  in  the  ribs  with  a  roll 
of  paper,  and  tells  him:  "Some  day  I  will  kill  you  like 
that."  In  corresponding  with  her  master  of  the  horse, 
M.  Eck,  she  writes:     "Monsieur  mon  voisin." 

The  Prince  de  Ligne  recounts  an  episode  of  the  tour 
in  the  Crimea,  when  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  be 
thee'd  and  thou'd  by  every  one,  and  to  tutoyer  them  in 
return.  This  whim  often  returned  to  her.  "You  cannot 
conceive,"  she  writes  to  Grimm,  "how  I  love  to  be 
tutoyee;  I  wish  it  were  done  all  over  Europe."  Then 
hear  her  account  of  her  relations  with  Mme.  Todi,  a 
famous  prima  donna,  whose  talent  she  could  not  appreci- 
ate, but  whom  she  was  willing  to  pay  very  liberally.  This 
was  at  Tzarskoie-Sielo  : — 

"Mme.   Todi  is  here,  and  she  is  always  about  with 


These  Splendid  Women  279 

her  husband.  Very  often  we  meet  face  to  face,  always 
however  without  coming  in  collision.  I  say  to  her: 
"Good-morning  or  good-evening,  Mme.  Todi,  how  do 
you  do?"  She  kisses  my  hands,  and  I  her  cheek;  our 
dogs  smell  one  another;  she  takes  hers  under  her  arm, 
I  call  mine,  and  we  both  go  on  our  way.  When  she 
sings,  I  listen  and  applaud,  and  we  both  say  that  we  get 
on  very  well  together." 

She  carries  her  condescension  in  the  matter  of  sociabil- 
ity to  great  lengths.  If  any  one  ventures  to  criticize 
her  choice  of  friends  and  lovers,  she  replies:  "Before 
being  what  I  am  I  was  thirty-three  years  what  others 
are,  and  it  is  not  quite  twenty  years  that  I  have  been 
what  they  are  not.  And  that  teaches  one  how  to  live." 
On  the  other  hand  she  makes  merry  at  the  expense  of 
the  great:  "Do  you  know  why  I  dread  Kings'  visits? 
Because  they  are  generally  tiresome,  insipid  people,  and 
you  have  to  be  stiff  and  formal  with  them.  These  per- 
sons of  renown  pay  much  respect  to  my  unaffected  ways, 
and  I  would  show  them  all  my  wit;  sometimes  I  show 
it  by  listening  to  them,  and  as  I  love  to  chatter,  the 
silence  bores  me." 

Her  proverbial  munificence  is  not  only  in  ostentation. 
Grimm  o'ften  distributed  large  sums  for  her  anony- 
mously. And  she  puts  a  charming  grace  and  delicacy 
in  some  of  her  gifts.  "Your  Royal  Highness,"  she 
writes  to  the  Comte  d'Artois,  who  is  leaving  Russia, 
"wishes,  doubtless,  to  make  some  small  presents  to  the 
people  who  have  done  you  service  during  your  stay  here. 
But,  as  you  know,  I  have  forbidden  all  commerce  and 
communication  with  your  unhappy  France,  and  you  will 
seek  in  vain  to  buy  any  trinkets  in  the  city;  there  are 
none  in  Russia  save  in  my  cabinet;  and  I  hope  your 
Highness  will  accept  these  from  his  affectionate  friend 
Catherine." 

What  she  lacks,  in  this  as  in  so  many  things,  is  mod- 


280  These  Splendid  Women 

eration.  She  is  well  aware  of  it  herself,  and  admits: 
"I  know  not  how  to  give;  I  give  too  much  or  not 
enough."  One  would  say  that  her  destiny,  in  raising 
her  to  such  a  height,  has  taken  from  her  the  sense  of 
proportion.  She  is  either  prodigal  or  miserly.  When 
she  has  exhausted  her  resources  by  her  excessive  expendi- 
ture and  liberalities  she  has  '*a  heart  of  stone"  for  the 
most  worthy,  the  most  just,  demands  upon  her.  She  gives 
a  third  of  his  pension  to  Prince  Viazemski  on  his  retire- 
ment. He  has  served  her  for  thirty  years,  and  she  has 
appreciated  his  services,  but  he  has  ceased  to  please  her. 
The  poor  man  dies  of  vexation. 

With  those  who  please  her,  as  long  as  they  have  that 
good  fortune,  she  knows  no  stint.  In  1781,  when  Count 
Branicki  married  a  niece  of  Patiomkine,  she  gave  500,000 
roubles  as  a  marriage  portion  to  the  bride,  and  the  same 
amount  to  her  husband,  to  pay  his  debts.  One  day  she 
amused  herself  with  imagining  how  the  principal  people 
at  her  court  might  meet  their  end.  Ivan  Tchernichef 
would  die  of  rage.  Countess  Roumiantsof  of  having 
shuffled  the  cards  too  much,  Mme.  Vsievolodsky  of  an 
excess  of  sighs;  and  so  forth.  She  herself  would  die — 
of  complaisance. 

It  is  not  only  complaisance,  there  is  in  her  an  in- 
stinctive generosity  which  comes  out  in  more  than  one 
way.  With  those  whom  she  honors  with  her  confidence 
she  has  none  of  that  facile  change  of  front  so  common 
to  her  sex.  She  is  incapable  of  suspicion.  One  of  the 
foreign  artists  whom  she  had  commissioned  to  make 
considerable  purchases  for  her  gallery  at  the  Hermitage, 
Reiffenstein — the  "divine"  Reiffenstein,  as  she  called  him 
— fancied  his  honesty  suspected.  Grimm,  who  acted  as 
intermediary,  became  anxious  about  it. 

^'Begone  with  your  notes  and  accounts,  both  of 
you!"  wrote  the  Empress  to  the  latter.  "I  never  sus- 
pected either  of  you  in  my  life.  Why  do  you  trouble 
me  with  stingy,  useless  things  of  that  sort?" 


These  Splendid  Women  281 

She  added:  "No  one  about  me  has  insinuated  any- 
thing against  le  divin/'  Grimm  could  well  believe  her, 
for  she  was  absolutely  averse  to  this  kind  of  insinuation, 
so  much  favored  in  courts.  In  general,  any  one  did 
but  do  a  bad  turn  for  himself  by  saying  evil  of  others. 
Patiomkine  himself  experienced  this  in  trying  to  shake  the 
credit  of  Prince  Viazemski. 

If  there  was  need,  however,  to  serve  or  defend  her 
friends,  she  was  ready  to  do  anything  in  total  forget- 
fulness  of  her  rank.  She  learns,  for  instance,  that 
Mme.  Ribas,  the  wife  of  an  Italian  adventurer  whom 
she  has  made  Admiral,  is  in  childbed.  She  jumps  into 
the  first  carriage  that  she  finds  at  the  gate  of  the  palace, 
enters  like  a  whirlwind  into  the  room  of  her  friend,  turns 
up  her  sleeves,  and  puts  on  an  apron.  "Now  here  are 
two  of  us,"  she  says  to  the  midwife;  "let  us  do  our  best." 
It  often  happens  that  advantage  is  taken  of  this  well- 
known  characteristic.  "They  know  I  am  good  to  bother," 
she  says.  Is  she  simply  "good,"  in  reality?  Yes,  in  her 
way,  which  assuredly  is  not  the  way  of  everybody.  The 
absolute  mistress  of  forty  millions  of  men  is  not  "every- 
body." Mme.  Vigee-Lebrun  dreamed  of  painting  the  por- 
trait of  the  great  sovereign.  "Take,"  said  some  one,  "the 
map  of  the  empire  of  Russia  for  canvas,  the  darkness  of 
ignorance  for  background,  the  spoils  of  Poland  for 
drapery,  human  blood  for  coloring,  the  monuments  of 
her  reign  for  the  cartoon,  and  for  the  shadow  six  months 
of  her  son's  reign."  There  is  some  truth  in  this  sombre 
picture,  but  it  wants  shading.  At  the  moment  of  the 
terrible  uprising  of  Pougatchef,  sharp  as  was  Catherine 
in  the  repression  of  a  revolt  which  put  her  empire  to 
the  stake,  she  bids  General  Panine  use  no  more  than  the 
indispensable  severity.  After  the  capture  of  the  rebel, 
she  does  her  best  to  succor  the  victims  of  this  terrible 
civil  war.  Yet,  in  Poland,  the  conduct  of  her  generals 
is  for  the  most  part  atrocious,  and  she  never  interferes. 
She  even  compliments  Souvarof  after  the  massacre  which 


282  These  Splendid  Women 

accompanies  the  taking  of  Warsaw.  And  in  this  empire 
of  hers,  "from  which  the  hght  now  comes,"  the  knout 
still  bears  sway,  the  stick  still  falls  on  the  bleeding  shoul- 
ders of  the  serf.  She  lets  knout  and  stick  do  their  work. 
How  is  this  to  be  understood? 

It  is  needful  first  of  all  to  realize  the  conception — a 
well-reasoned  and  elaborated  conception — of  the  position 
of  the  sovereign  and  of  the  exigencies  of  that  position, 
which  obtained  in  the  mind  of  this  autocratic  ruler.  We 
cannot  make  war  without  dead  or  wounded,  nor  can  we 
subdue  a  people  jealous  of  its  liberty  without  stifling  its 
resistance  in  blood.  Having  resolved  on  the  annexation 
of  Poland — rightly  or  wrongly,  need  not  be  discussed  here 
— it  was  necessary  to  accept  all  the  consequences  of  the 
enterprise.  This  Catherine  did,  taking  upon  herself, 
calmly  and  frankly,  the  entire  responsibility  of  the  affair. 
Calmly,  for,  in  these  matters,  reasons  of  state  alone  in- 
fluence her;  they  take  the  place  of  conscience,  and  even 
of  feeling.  Frankly,  for  she  is  not  a  hypocrite.  An 
actress  ever,  and  of  the  first  order,  by  reason  of  her  posi- 
tion, which  is  nothing  but  a  part  to  play.  It  is  in  this 
sense  that  the  French  envoy  Durand  could  say  of  her: 
"My  experience  is  quite  useless ;  the  woman  is  more  false 
than  our  women  are  tricky.  I  can  say  no  more."  But  she 
was  never  a  hypocrite  by  preference,  for  the  pleasure 
of  deceiving,  like  so  many;  nor  by  need  of  deceiving  her- 
self. "She  was  too  proud  to  deceive,"  said  the  Prince 
de  Ligne. 

In  what  she  did,  or  suffered  to  be  done,  in  Poland, 
she  has  had  many  imitators,  beginning  with  the  pious 
Maria  Theresa  herself.  Only  Maria  Theresa  mingled  her 
tears  with  the  blood  that  she  shed.  "She  is  always  crying 
and  stealing,"  said  Frederick.     Catherine  keeps  dry-eyed. 

Catherine,  too,  followed  a  different  principle  of  gov- 
ernment. A  sovereign,  however  absolute,  cannot  be  every- 
where at  once.  Souvarof  has  orders  to  take  Warsaw. 
He  takes   it.     How?     That  is  his  affair,  not  that  of 


These  Splendid  Women  283 

any  one  else.  The  principle  is  contestable,  but  we  have 
not  to  discuss  political  theories  in  a  study  of  character. 

Finally,  Catherine  is  a  Russian  sovereign,  and  the 
Russia  of  the  eighteenth  century,  without  going  further, 
is  a  country  where  European  ideas  in  regard  to  justice 
and  sentiment  are  quite  out  of  place,  where  both  moral 
and  physical  sensibility  seem  to  obey  different  laws.  In 
1766,  during  the  Empress's  stay  at  Peterhof,  a  sudden 
alarm  one  night  startles  her  Majesty  and  all  about  her. 
There  is  great  excitement  and  confusion.  It  turns  out 
that  a  lackey,  who  has  been  making  love  to  one  of  the 
waiting-maids  of  Catherine,  has  caused  all  this  fright. 
He  is  brought  to  trial,  and  condemned  to  receive  a  hun- 
dred and  one  strokes  of  the  knout,  which  is  practically 
equivalent  to  a  sentence  of  death,  to  have  his  nose  slit, 
to  be  branded  on  the  forehead  with  a  hot  iron,  and  to 
end  his  days  in  Siberia,  if  he  recovers.  No  one  has  any- 
thing to  say  against  the  sentence.  It  is  after  such  traits, 
and  on  the  scale  of  notions,  sentiments,  and  sensations, 
apparently  proper  to  the  surroundings  in  which  they 
have  root,  that  we  require  to  judge  a  sovereign  who, 
politically  speaking,  could  certainly  not  claim  the  title  of 
"most  gracious." 

Apart  from  politics,  Catherine  is  an  adored  and  ador- 
able sovereign.  Those  about  her  have  nothing  but  praise 
for  her  dealings.  Her  servants  are  spoilt  children.  The 
story  of  the  chimney-sweep  is  well  known.  Always 
an  early  riser,  in  order  to  work  more  quietly  in  the  silence 
of  the  early  hours,  the  Empress  sometimes  lights  her  own 
fire,  so  as  not  to  disturb  any  one.  One  morning,  as  she 
sets  the  faggots  in  a  blaze,  she  hears  piercing  cries  from 
the  chimney,  followed  by  a  volley  of  abuse.  She  under- 
stands, quickly  puts  out  the  fire,  and  humbly  proffers  her 
excuses  to  the  poor  little  chimney-sweep  whom  she  had 
nearly  roasted  alive.  There  are  thousands  of  similar 
stories  told  of  her.  One  day,  the  Countess  Bruce  enters 
the  Empress's  bedroom  and  finds  her  Majesty  alone,  half- 


284  These  Splendid  Women 

dressed,  with  her  arms  folded  in  the  attitude  of  one  who 
is  waiting  patiently  because  she  is  obliged  to  wait.  See- 
ing her  surprise,  Catherine  explains  the  case — 

"What  do  you  think?  my  waiting-maids  have  all  de- 
serted me.  I  had  been  trying  on  a  dress  which  fitted 
so  badly  that  I  lost  my  temper;  so  they  left  me  like 
this  .  .  .  and  I  am  waiting  till  they  have  cooled 
down." 

One  day  she  sends  Grimm  an  almost  indecipherable 
letter,  and  thus  excuses  herself — 

"My  valets  de  chamhre  give  me  two  new  pens  a  day, 
but  when  they  are  worn  out  I  never  venture  to  ask  for 
more,  but  I  turn  and  turn  them  as  best  I  can." 

One  evening,  after  ringing  in  vain  for  some  time,  she 
goes  into  the  anteroom  and  finds  these  same  valets  de 
clmmhre  absorbed  in  a  game  of  cards.  She  offers  one 
of  them  to  take  his  place  so  that  she  can  finish  the  game 
for  him,  while  he  can  do  an  urgent  errand  for  her.  She 
catches  some  servants  in  the  act  of  making  off  with  pro- 
visions intended  for  her  table.  "Let  this  be  the  last 
time,"  she  says,  with  severity ;  then  she  adds :  "And  now, 
be  off  quickly,  or  the  marechal  de  la  cour  will  catch  you." 
She  sees  in  the  courtyard  of  her  palace  an  old  woman 
running  after  a  fowl,  and  soon  the  valets  are  running 
after  the  old  woman,  anxious  to  show  their  zeal  under  the 
eyes  of  the  Empress.  For  this  fowl  is  a  fowl  "belong- 
ing to  her  Majesty's  treasure,"  and  the  woman  is  the 
grandmother  of  a  court  scullion;  a  double  crime.  Cath- 
erine, after  making  inquiries,  orders  a  fowl  to  be  given 
every  day  to  the  poor  old  soul,  but  a  fowl  already  trussed. 

She  keeps  by  her,  despite  her  infirmities,  an  old  German 
nurse,  whom  she  watches  over  with  the  greatest  care.  "I 
feared  her,"  she  writes  to  Grimm,  announcing  her  death, 
"as  I  dread  fire,  or  the  visits  of  kings  and  great  people. 
Whenever  she  saw  me,  she  would  seize  me  by  the  head, 
and  kiss  me  again  and  again  till  she  half  stifled  me.    And 


These  Splendid  Women  285 

she  always  smelt  of  tobacco,  which  her  respected  husband 
used  largely." 

Nevertheless,  she  is  far  from  being  patient,  for  nat- 
urally she  is  quick-tempered,  too  quick-tempered.  Her 
fits  of  rage  are  one  of  her  most  noticeable  defects. 
Grimm  compares  her  to  Etna,  and  she  delights  in  the 
comparison.  She  calls  the  volcano  "my  cousin,"  and  fre- 
quently asks  for  news  of  it.  For  she  knows  her  defect, 
and  it  is  this  that  enables  her  to  combat  it  effectually. 
If  she  gives  way  to  the  first  paroxysm  of  anger,  she 
immediately  recovers  command  of  herself.  If  it  is  in  her 
private  room,  she  turns  up  her  sleeves  with  a  gesture  to 
which  she  is  accustomed,  and  begins  to  walk  to  and  fro, 
drinking  glass  after  glass  of  water.  Never  does  she  give 
an  order  or  a  signature  in  one  of  these  passing  fits  of  rage. 
In  her  speech  she  gives  way  sometimes  to  undignified  ex- 
pressions, as  in  her  sallies  against  Gustave  III.  during  the 
war  with  Sweden.  ^'Canaille"  in  French  and  ^'Bestie"  in 
German  are  too  often  part  of  her  vocabulary.  She  always, 
however,  regrets  what  she  has  done  or  said,  and,  in 
course  of  time,  so  strictly  does  she  watch  over  and  restrain 
herself,  she  attains  to  a  bearing  which  makes  this  weak- 
ness of  her  character  or  temperament  seem  almost  in- 
credible. 

"She  said  to  me  slowly,"  writes  the  Prince  de  Ligne, 
"that  she  had  been  extremely  quick-tempered,  which  one 
could  scarcely  believe.  .  .  .  Her  three  bows  a  la 
Russe  are  made  always  in  the  same  way  in  entering  a 
room,  one  to  the  left,  one  to  the  right,  and  one  in  the 
middle.  Everything  in  her  was  measured,  methodical. 
.  .  .  She  loves  to  repeat  'J'ai  de  I'imperturhahilitef 
taking  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  say  the  word." 

Senac  de  Meilhan,  who  visited  Russia  in  1750,  confirms 
these  characteristics.  In  one  of  his  letters,  dated  from 
St.  Petersburg,  he  speaks  of  the  inexpressible  impression 
of  tranquillity  and  serenity  with  which  the  appearance  of 
Catherine  before  the  court  is  always  accompanied.     She 


286  These  Splendid  Women 

does  not  affect  the  rigidity  of  a  statue.  She  looks  round 
her  with  eyes  that  seem  to  see  everything.  She  speaks 
slowly,  not  as  if  seeking  for  words,  but  as  if  choosing 
quietly  those  that  suit  her." 

Nevertheless,  to  the  end  of  her  life,  Catherine  kept 
to  her  habit  of  pinning  her  serviette  under  her  chin 
on  sitting  down  to  table.  "She  could  not  otherwise," 
as  she  frankly  avows,  "eat  an  egg,  without  dropping  half 
of  it  on  her  collerette." 

Her  temperament  is  particularly  lively,  sanguine,  and 
impetuous.  This  appears,  we  know  well,  in  more  than 
one  aspect  of  her  private  life.  To  this  we  shall  have 
to  return.  Let  us  say  here  that  the  shamelessness  of 
her  morals,  which  it  would  be  idle  to  try  to  attenuate, 
does  not  seem  to  have  its  root  in  any  constitutional  vice. 
She  is  neither  hysterical  nor  tainted  with  nymphomania. 
It  is  a  sensual  woman  who,  being  Empress,  gives  free 
course  to  her  senses,  imperially.  What  she  does  in  this 
order  of  things  is  done  as  she  does  everything  else, 
quietly,  imperturbably — we  might  almost  say  methodically. 
She  gives  way  to  no  bewilderments  of  imagination,  to  no 
disorder  of  nerves.  Love  with  her  is  but  the  natural  func- 
tion of  a  physical  and  moral  organism  endowed  with 
exceptional  energy,  and  it  has  the  same  imperious  char- 
acter, the  same  lasting  power,  as  the  other  phenomena 
of  her  life.     She  is  still  amorous  at  sixty-seven ! 

Her  other  tastes  are  those  of  a  person  well-balanced, 
both  mentally  and  physically.  She  loves  the  arts,  and  the 
society  of  intelligent  and  learned  people.  She  loves 
nature.  Gardening,  "plantomania"  as  she  calls  it,  is  one 
of  her  favorite  occupations.  Note  that  though  she 
adores  flowers,  she  cannot  endure  too  strong  perfumes, 
that  of  musk  in  particular.  Every  day,  at  a  fixed  hour, 
which  a  bell  announces  to  the  winged  population,  she  ap- 
pears at  a  window  of  the  palace  and  throws  out  crumbs 
to  the  thousands  of  birds  that  are  accustomed  to  come  to 


These  Splendid  Women  287 

her  to  be  fed.  Elizabeth  used  to  feed  frogs,  which  were 
expressly  kept  in  the  park:  one  sees  the  difference,  the 
morbid,  extravagant  note.  In  Catherine  there  is  nothing 
of  the  kind.  She  Hkes  birds,  dogs,  who  play  a  consider- 
able part  in  her  private  life,  horses  too ;  she  likes  animals 
in  general,  but  she  prefers  those  which  are  more  generally 
liked.     All  that  is  very  simple,  very  natural,  very  normal. 

Elizabeth  led  an  irregular  life,  turning  night  into  day, 
never  having  a  fixed  hour  for  anything.  Catherine  is 
regularity  itself;  always  early  to  bed,  up  with  the  dawn, 
fitting  in  her  occupations  as  well  as  her  pleasures  with  a 
programme  that  she  has  made  out  beforehand,  and  that 
she  carries  out  without  deviation.  Elizabeth  used  to  get 
drunk;  Catherine  is  sober,  eating  little,  only  drinking  a 
mouthful  of  wine  at  her  principal  meal,  never  taking 
supper.  In  public  and  in  private,  save  for  the  mysteries 
of  the  alcove,  she  is  perfectly  correct  in  demeanour,  never 
allowing  an  impropriety  in  conversation.  And  in  this 
there  is  no  hypocrisy,  for  she  shows,  and  indeed  shows 
off,  her  lovers. 

In  order  to  find  something  unnatural,  abnormal,  in  her, 
some  have  laid  emphasis  on  her  supposed  indifference  to 
family  feeling.  The  point  is  susceptible  of  controversy. 
She  despised  and  detested  her  husband,  if  she  did  not  kill 
him  or  let  him  be  killed ;  and  she  was  not  tender  towards 
her  son,  if  she  did  not  think  of  disinheriting  him.  Still 
it  must  be  remembered  what  this  husband  and  this  son 
really  were,  both  to  her  and  to  Russia.  She  never  saw 
again  her  only  brother,  never  having  allowed  him  to  come 
and  see  her,  though  she  only  survived  him  by  three  years. 
That  was  a  matter  of  policy.  She  found  that  there  were 
Germans  enough  in  Russia,  herself  among  the  number. 
With  her,  it  is  certain,  the  head  always  ruled  the  heart, 
and,  though  German,  she  was  by  no  means  sentimental. 
But  she  was,  as  we  shall  see,  a  delightful  grandmother, 
and  she  was  passionately  fond  of  children. 

Her  shameless  sensuality  thus  seems  an  isolated  phe- 


288  These  Splendid  Women 

nomenon,  without  connection  with  any  other  in  her  tem- 
perament. Perhaps  this  is  only  in  appearance;  perhaps 
we  should  seek  a  certain  connection,  if  not  the  relation 
of  cause  to  effect,  between  this  side  of  her  nature  and 
another  that  we  are  about  to  look  into,  that  is  to  say, 
the  intellectual  culture  of  one  who  loved  to  call  herself 
the  pupil  of  Voltaire.  If,  indeed,  there  is  method  in 
this  madness  of  the  senses,  which  she  does  not  lose  even 
in  middle  age,  there  is  also  a  certain  lofty  cynicism,  a  cer- 
tain tranquil  assurance,  which  a  physiological  peculiarity, 
anomaly  if  you  will,  is  not  sufficient  to  explain.  The 
philosophical  spirit  of  the  eighteenth  century  has  passed 
over  it,  and  not  only  the  spirit  of  the  age  of  Brantome. 

Catherine  is  a  great  temperament,  not  a  great  intellect. 
She  herself  did  not  pretend  to  '*a  creative  mind."  Never- 
theless she  prides  herself  on  her  originality.  "All  my 
life,"  she  writes  to  Mme.  de  Bielke,  "I  never  could  tol- 
erate imitation,  and,  to  put  it  bluntly,  I  am  as  much  of 
an  original  as  the  most  determined  Englishman,"  But  it 
is  in  her  tastes,  her  habits,  her  modes  of  action,  that  is 
to  say  in  her  temperament  rather  than  in  her  mind,  that 
we  must  look  for  this  personal  note.  There  is  not  a 
single  new  idea  in  her  Instruction  for  the  laws,  written 
at  the  age  of  thirty-six,  in  the  full  vigor  of  her  intel- 
lectual faculties.  It  is  the  second-rate  v/ork  of  a  student 
of  rhetoric,  who  has  been  given  as  a  task  the  analysis  of 
Montesquieu  and  Beccaria,  and  who  has  done  creditably, 
but  without  showing  any  great  talent.  This  work,  never- 
theless, gives  her  enormous  trouble.  At  the  end  of  March 
1765  she  has  been  toiling  at  it  for  two  months,  at  the 
rate  of  three  hours  a  day.  Her  best  hours,  in  the  morn- 
ing, are  given  up  to  this  work.  By  the  middle  of  June 
she  has  covered  sixty-four  pages,  and  she  feels  that  she 
has  made  a  considerable  efifort.  She  is  quite  worn  out. 
"I  have  emptied  my  sack,"  she  writes,  "and,  after  this, 
I  shall  not  write  another  word  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 


These  Splendid  Women  289 

We  have  all  known  these  vows,  and,  too,  this  impression 
of  weariness  at  the  end  of  the  first  long  effort.  But 
having  regard  to  the  actual  result,  this  author's  trouble 
is  almost  laughable.  The  sack,  too,  that  she  had  emptied, 
or  thought  she  had  emptied,  was  easy  to  replace,  for  it 
was  not  hers.    She  found  plenty  more  in  turn. 

Had  she  then  nothing  of  her  own?  Yes,  much  good 
sense,  to  begin  with,  joined,  singularly  enough,  to  a  great 
wealth  of  imagination.  She  passed  the  thirty-four  years 
of  her  reign  in  building  castles  in  the  air,  magnificent 
buildings  founded  on  nothing,  and  evaporating  in  space 
at  the  least  breath.  But  the  day  came  when  one  stone, 
a  single  stone,  was  placed  in  the  soil,  as  if  by  miracle, 
at  the  angle  of  the  fantastic  edifice.  It  was  Catherine 
who  had  planted  it  there.  The  Russian  people,  this  good 
people  which  has  not  yet  come  to  realize  itself,  nor  to 
dispute  with  those  who  govern  it,  did  the  rest.  It  brought 
its  sweat  and  blood,  and  like  the  Egyptian  colossi,  where 
the  effort  of  thousands  of  unknown  existences  is 
superposed,  the  edifice  rose  and  assumed  tangible  form. 
The  conquest  of  the  Taurida  was  thus  accomplished.  This 
was  one  of  Catherine's  dreams,  put  in  action  and  trans- 
lated into  a  novel  of  adventures  by  Patiomkine.  But  the 
corner-stone  appeared  suddenly  in  a  port  of  the  Black 
Sea,  and  the  Crimea  of  to-day  was  then  created. 


J^lorence  ^A(J^ghtingale 

By  ELIZABETH  ALDRIDGE 

EVERYONE  who  knows  London  at  all  knows  the 
Houses  of  Parliament  at  the  foot  of  Westminster 
Bridge.  Across  the  bridge  on  the  Surrey  bank, 
just  opposite  the  great  Gothic  Houses  where  legislators 
talk  and  govern,  stands  the  new  St.  Thomas's  Hospital, 
where  sick  folk  suffer,  get  cured,  or  die;  where  young 
doctors  "walk,"  and  older  ones  teach;  where  experienced 
nurses  tend  the  sick,  and  where  probationers  are  trained. 

Let  us  go  over  the  crowded  bridge,  through  the  long 
corridors  of  the  hospital,  and  enter  a  large  room,  where 
tables  are  neatly  laid  for  a  numerous  company,  and  there 
look  at  a  statuette  under  a  glass  shade  on  a  pedestal. 
There  she  stands,  a  ministering  woman.  Her  dress  is 
the  simple  garb  of  common  life,  as  it  was  in  the  days  of 
the  Crimean  War,  with  no  separating  badge  to  mark  her 
off  from  her  fellow-beings.  In  one  hand  she  holds  a 
nurse's  night-lamp,  with  the  other  she  shades  the  light 
from  the  eyes  of  the  sick  faces  she  is  watching.  You 
do  not  see  their  faces,  but  you  know  that  she  sees  them ; 
on  every  line  of  hers  you  read  how  carefully  and  wisely, 
and  with  what  clear  knowledge  and  gentle  womanliness 
she  is  pondering  what  she  sees. 

It  is  a  statuette  of  Florence  Nightingale."  It  stands 
in  the  dining-room  of  the  Nightingale  Home,  St.  Thomas's 
Hospital;  where  those  who  have  eyes  and  hearts  and 
brains  may  study  it,  and  learn  the  lessons  taught  with 
such  quiet,  unobtrusive  force. 


These  Splendid  Women  291 

That  Nightingale  Home  is  part  of  the  British  nation's 
tribute  of  thanks  to  the  noble  woman  who  found  the 
death-rate  in  the  Barrack  Hospital  at  Scutari  60  per 
cent.,  and  left  it  a  fraction  over  1. 

The  Nightingale  Home  is  established  for  the  purpose 
of  training  nurses.  Two  classes  of  women  are  admitted : 
those  who  are  termed  "nurse  probationers ;"  and  gentle- 
women, who  are  "special  probationers." 

A  very  distinguished  lady  nurse  who  has  been  m  half 
the  hospitals  in  Europe  once  said  to  me,  "To  Florence 
Nightingale,  who  was  my  own  first  teacher  and  mspirer, 
we  owe  the  wonderful  change  that  has  taken  place  m 
the  public  mind  with  regard  to  nursing.  When  I  first 
began  my  hospital  training,  hospital  nursing  was  thought 
to  be  a  profession  which  no  decent  woman  of  any  rank 
could  follow.  If  a  servant  turned  nurse,  it  was  supposed 
she  did  so  because  she  had  lost  her  character.  We  have 
changed  all  that  now.  Modern  nursing  owes  its  first 
impulse  to  Florence  Nightingale." 

I  don't  suppose  that  any  of  my  readers  have  ever  seen 
a  hospital  nurse  of  the  now  nearly  extinct  Gamp  type ; 
but  I  have.  I  have  seen  her,  coarse-faced,  thick  of  limb, 
heavy  of  foot,  brutal  in  speech,  crawling  up  and  down  the 
stairs  or  about  in  the  wards  in  dresses  and  aprons  that 
made  me  feel  (although  quite  well  and  with  a  good  healthy 
appetite)  as  if  I  would  rather  not  have  my  dinner  just 
then  These  were  the  old-fashioned  "Sairey  Gamps. 
But  Florence  Nightingale  has  been  too  strong  for  even 
the  immortal  "Sairey."  Go  now  through  the  corridors 
and  wards  of  a  modern  hospital;  every  nurse  you  meet 
will  be  neat  and  trim  with  spotless  dress  and  cap  and 
apron,  moving  quietly  but  quickly  to  and  fro,  doing  her 
work  with  kindness  and  intelligence. 

The  Nightingale  Home  itself  is  charming ;  and  many, 
were  they  to  see  the  little  white  beds  and  pleasant  rooms 
of  the  probationers,  or  were  to  stand  at  the  windows  of 
the  wards,  overlooking  the  busy  Thames  and  the  opposite 


292  These  Splendid  Women 

Houses  of  Parliament,  or  to  meet  the  probationers  troop- 
ing down  to  dinner,  some  in  their  soft  grey  alpacas, 
which  tell  they  have  just  come  from  the  lecture-room, 
and  others,  in  print  gowns  and  white  aprons,  from  the 
wards,  would  desire  to  become  ^^Nightingales."  But  this 
is  no  easy  matter :  no  one  is  admitted  before  twenty-three 
years  of  age;  the  preliminary  training  is  very  thorough, 
and  they  have  to  work  very  hard;  most  of  them  find  it 
trying  at  first ;  indeed,  every  woman  must  be  sure  of  her 
vocation  before  she  attempts  the  work,  interesting  as  it 
is  to  those  who  care  for  it  in  the  highest  spirit. 

It  was  in  1820,  the  year  George  the  Third's  long  life 
quite  faded  out,  that  the  younger  of  the  two  daughters 
of  William  Shore  Nightingale  was  born  at  Florence,  and 
named  after  that  lovely  city. 

Mr.  Nightingale,  of  Embley  Park,  Hampshire,  and  the 
Lea  Hurst,  Derbyshire,  was  a  very  wealthy  landowner. 
He  was  of  the  Shores  of  Derbyshire,  but  inherited  the 
fortune  with  the  name  of  Nightingale  through  his  mother. 
Lea  Hurst,  where  Miss  Nightingale  passed  the  summer 
months  of  each  year,  is  situated  in  the  Matlock  district, 
among  bold  masses  of  limestone  rock,  gray  walls,  full  of 
fossils,  covered  with  moss  and  lichen,  with  the  changeful 
river  Derwent  now  dashing  over  its  stony  bed,  now 
quietly  winding  between  little  dales  with  clefts  and 
dingles.  Those  who  have  travelled  by  the  Derby  and 
Buxton  railway  will  remember  the  narrow  valleys,  the 
mountain  streams,  the  wide  spans  of  high  moorland,  the 
distant  ranges  of  hills  beyond  hills  of  the  district.  Lea 
Hurst,  a  gable-ended  house,  standing  among  its  own  woods 
and  commanding  wonderful  views  of  the  Peak  country, 
is  about  two  miles  from  Cromford  station. 

At  Lea  Hurst  much  of  Florence  Nightingale's  childhood 
was  passed.  There  she  early  developed  that  intense  love 
for  every  living  suffering  thing  that  grew  with  her  growth, 
until  it  became  the  master-passion  of  her  life. 

A  few  years  since  a  true  story  of  her  as  a  little  girl 


These  Splendid  Women  293 

apeared  in  Little  Folks  Magazine,  and  it  is  so  charm- 
ingly told,  and  gives  so  distinctly  the  key-note  of  her 
character,  that  I  repeat  it  here  in  full,  as  to  curtail  it 
would  be  to  spoil  it: — 

Some  years  ago,  when  the  celebrated  Florence  Night- 
ingale was  a  little  girl,  living  at  her  father's  home,  a 
large,  old  Elizabethan  house  with  great  woods  about  it, 
in  Hampshire,  there  was  one  thing  that  struck  everybody 
who  knew  her.  It  was  that  she  seemed  to  be  always 
thinking  what  she  could  do  to  please  or  help  any  one  who 
needed  either  help  or  comfort.  She  was  very  fond,  too, 
of  animals,  and  she  was  so  gentle  in  her  way,  that  even 
the  shyest  of  them  would  come  quite  close  to  her,  and 
pick  up  whatever  she  flung  down  for  them  to  eat.  There 
was,  in  the  garden  behind  the  house,  a  long  walk  with 
trees  on  each  side,  the  abode  of  many  squirrels ;  and  when 
Florence  came  down  the  walk,  dropping  nuts  as  she  went 
along,  the  squirrels  would  run  down  the  trunks  of  their 
trees,  and  hardly  waiting  until  she  passed  by,  would  pick 
up  the  prize,  and  dart  away  with  their  little  bushy  tails 
curled  over  their  backs,  and  their  black  eyes  looking  about 
as  if  terrified  at  the  least  noise,  though  they  did  not 
seem  to  be  afraid  of  Florence.  The  reason  was  that 
she  loved  them,  and  never  did  anything  to  startle  or  trouble 
them. 

Then  there  was  an  old  grey  pony,  named  Peggy,  past 
work,  living  in  a  paddock,  with  nothing  to  do  all  day  long 
but  to  amuse  herself.  Whenever  Florence  appeared  at 
the  gate,  Peggy  would  come  trotting  up  and  put  her  nose 
into  the  dress  pocket  of  her  litde  mistress,  and  pick  it 
of  the  apple  or  the  roll  of  bread  that  she  knew  she  would 
always  find  there,  for  this  was  a  trick  Florence  had  taught 
the  pony.  Florence  was  fond  of  riding,  and  her  father's 
old  friend  (the  clergyman  of  the  parish)  used  often  to 
come  and  take  her  for  a  ride  with  him  when  he  went  to 
the  farm  cottages  at  a  distance.     He  was  a  good  man, 


294  These  Splendid  Women 

and  very  kind  to  the  poor.  As  he  had  studied  medicine 
when  a  young  man,  he  was  able  to  tell  the  people  what 
would  do  them  good  when  they  were  ill,  or  had  met  with 
an  accident.  Little  Florence  took  great  delight  in  helping 
to  nurse  those  who  were  ill,  and  whenever  she  went  on 
these  long  rides,  she  had  a  small  basket  fastened  to  her 
saddle,  filled  with  something  nice,  which  she  had  saved 
from  her  breakfast  or  dinner,  or  carried  for  her  mother, 
who  was  very  good  to  the  poor.  She  thus  learned  to  be 
useful  as  well  as  kind-hearted. 

Now,  there  lived  in  one  of  two  or  three  solitary  cot- 
tages in  the  wood,  an  old  shepherd  of  her  father's,  named 
Roger,  who  had  a  favourite  sheep-dog  called  Cap.  Roger 
had  neither  wife  nor  child,  and  Cap  lived  with  him,  and 
kept  him  company  at  nights,  after  he  had  penned  his 
flock.  Cap  was  a  very  sensible  dog;  indeed,  people  used 
to  say  he  "could  do  everything  but  speak."  He  kept 
the  sheep  in  wonderfully  good  order,  and  thus  saved 
his  master  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  One  day  as  Florence 
and  her  old  friend  were  out  for  a  ride,  they  came  to  a 
field,  where  they  found  the  shepherd  giving  his  sheep 
their  night  feed;  but  he  was  without  the  dog,  and  the 
sheep  knew  it,  for  they  were  scampering  about  in  all 
directions.  Florence  and  her  friend  noticed  that  the  old 
shepherd  looked  very  sad  this  evening,  and  they  stopped 
to  ask  what  was  the  matter,  and  what  had  become  of 
his  dog. 

"Oh,"  said  Roger,  "Cap  will  never  be  of  any  more 
use  to  me;  I'll  have  to  hang  him,  poor  fellow,  as  soon 
as  I  go  home  to-night." 

"Hang  him!"  said  Florence.  "Oh,  Roger,  how  wicked 
of  you !    What  has  dear  old  Cap  done  ?" 

"He  has  done  nothing,"  replied  Roger;  "but  he  will 
never  be  of  any  more  use  to  me,  and  I  cannot  afford  to 
keep  him  for  nothing;  one  of  the  mischievous  school- 
boys throwed  a  stone  at  him  yesterday,  and  broke  one 
of  his  legs."     And  the  old  shepherd's  eyes  filled  with 


These  Splendid  Wofnen  295 

tears,  which  he  wiped  away  with  his  shirt-sleeve;  then 
he  drove  his  spade  deep  in  the  ground  to  hide  what  he 
felt,  for  he  did  not  like  to  be  seen  crying. 

"Poor  Cap!"  he  sighed,  "he  was  as  knowing  as  a 
human  being  almost." 

"But  are  you  sure  his  leg  is  broken?"  asked  Florence. 

"Oh,  yes,  miss,  it  is  broken  safe  enough;  he  has  not 
put  his  foot  to  the  ground  since." 

Florence  and  her  friend  rode  on  without  saying  any- 
thing more  to  Roger. 

"We  will  go  and  see  poor  Cap,"  said  the  vicar.  "I 
don't  believe  the  leg  is  really  broken.  It  would  take  a 
big  stone,  and  a  hard  blow,  to  break  the  leg  of  a  great 
dog  like  Cap." 

"Oh,  if  you  could  but  cure  him,  how  glad  Roger  would 
be!"  replied  Florence. 

They  soon  reached  the  shepherd's  cottage;  but  the 
door  was  fastened,  and  when  they  moved  the  latch  such 
a  furious  barking  was  heard,  that  they  drew  back  startled. 
However,  a  little  boy  came  out  of  the  next  cottage,  and 
asked  if  they  wanted  to  go  in,  as  Roger  had  left  the 
key  with  his  mother.  So  the  key  was  got,  and  the  door 
opened,  and  there  on  the  bare  brick  floor  lay  the  dog, 
his  hair  dishevelled,  and  his  eyes  sparkling  with  anger 
at  the  intruders.  But  when  he  saw  the  little  boy  he  grew 
pacified.  Dogs  always  know  their  friends.  And  when 
he  looked  at  Florence,  and  heard  her  call  him  "Poor 
Cap,"  he  began  to  wag  his  short  tail,  and  then  crept 
from  under  the  table,  and  lay  down  at  her  feet.  She  took 
hold  of  one  of  his  paws,  patted  his  old  rough  head,  and 
talked  to  him,  whilst  her  friend  examined  the  injured 
leg.  It  was  dreadfully  swollen,  and  hurt  him  very  much 
to  have  it  examined;  but  the  dog  knew  it  was  meant 
kindly,  and  though  he  moaned  and  winced  with  pain,  he 
licked  the  hands  that  were  hurting  him. 

"It's  only  a  bad  bruise ;  no  bones  are  broken,"  said  hex; 


296  These  Splendid  Women 

old  friend;  "rest  is  all  Cap  needs;  he  will  soon  be  well 
again." 

"I  am  so  glad/'  exclaimed  Florence;  "but  can  we  do 
nothing  for  him?  he  seems  in  such  pain." 

"There  is  one  thing  that  would  ease  the  pain,  and  heal 
the  leg  all  the  sooner,  and  that  is  plenty  of  hot  water 
to  foment  the  part." 

"Well  then,"  said  Florence,  "if  that  will  do  him  good, 
I  will  foment  poor  Cap's  leg." 

"I  fear  you  will  only  scald  yourself,"  replied  he. 

But  Florence  had  in  the  meantime  struck  a  light  with 
the  tinder-box,  and  lighted  the  fire,  which  was  already 
laid.  She  then  set  off  to  the  other  cottage  to  get  some- 
thing to  bathe  the  leg  with.  She  found  an  old  flannel 
petticoat  hanging  up  to  dry,  and  this  she  carried  off,  and 
tore  up  into  slips,  which  she  wrung  out  in  warm  water, 
and  laid  them  tenderly  on  Cap's  swollen  leg.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  poor  dog  felt  the  benefit  of  the  appli- 
cation, and  he  looked  grateful,  wagging  his  little  stump 
of  a  tail  in  thanks.  On  their  way  home  they  met  the 
shepherd  coming  slowly  along,  with  a  piece  of  rope  in 
his  hand. 

"Oh,  Roger,"  cried  Florence,  "you  are  not  to  hang 
poor  old  Cap;  his  leg  is  not  broken  at  all." 

"No,  he  will  serve  you  yet,"  said  the  vicar. 

"Well,  I  be  main  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  shepherd, 
"and  many  thanks  to  you  for  going  to  see  him." 

On  the  next  morning  Florence  was  up  early,  and  the 
first  thing  she  did  was  to  take  two  flannel  petticoats  to 
give  to  the  poor  woman  whose  petticoat  she  had  torn  up 
to  bathe  Cap.  Then  she  went  to  the  dog,  and  was  de- 
lighted to  find  the  swelling  of  his  leg  much  less.  She 
bathed  it  again,  and  Cap  was  as  grateful  as  before. 

Two  or  three  days  afterwards  Florence  and  her  friend 
were  riding  together,  when  they  came  up  to  Roger  and 
his  sheep.  This  time  Cap  was  watching  the  sheep,  though 
he  was  lying  quite  still,  and  pretending  to  be  asleep. 


These  Splendid  Women  297 

When  he  heard  the  voice  of  Florence  speaking  to  his 
master,  who  was  portioning  out  the  usual  feed,  his  tail 
wagged  and  his  eyes  sparkled,  but  he  did  not  get  up, 
for  he  was  on  duty.  The  shepherd  stopped  his  work, 
and  as  he  glanced  at  the  dog  with  a  merry  laugh,  said, 
"Do  look  at  the  dog,  miss ;  he  be  so  pleased  to  hear  your 
voice.""  Cap's  tail  went  faster  and  faster.  "I  be  glad," 
continued  the  old  man,  "I  did  not  hang  him.  I  be  greatly 
obHged  to  you,  miss,  and  the  vicar,  for  what  you  did.  But 
for  you  I  would  have  hanged  the  best  dog  I  ever  had 
in  my  life." 

Florence  Nightingale  always  retained  her  belief  in  ani- 
mals. Many  years  afterwards,  when  her  name  was  known 
all  over  the  world,  she  wrote:  "A  small  pet  animal  is 
often  an  excellent  companion  for  the  sick,  for  long  chronic 
cases  especially.  An  invalid,  in  giving  an  account  of  his 
nursing  by  a  nurse  and  a  dog,  infinitely  preferred  that  of 
the  dog.  'Above  all,'  he  said,  'it  did  not  talk.' "  Even 
Florence  Nightingale's  maimed  dolls  were  tenderly  nursed 
and  bandaged. 

Mr.  Nightingale  was  a  man  singularly  in  advance  of 
his  time  as  regards  the  training  of  girls.  The  "higher  edu- 
cation of  women"  was  unknown  to  the  general  public  in 
those  days,  but  not  to  Mr.  Nightingale.  His  daughter 
was  taught  mathematics,  and  studied  the  classics,  history, 
and  modern  languages,  under  her  father's  guidance. 
These  last  were  afterwards  of  the  greatest  use  to  her  in 
the  Crimea.  But  she  was  no  "learned  lady;"  only  a 
well-educated  Englishwoman,  all  round.  She  was  an 
excellent  musician,  and  skilful  in  work  with  the  needle; 
and  the  delicate  trained  touch  thus  acquired  stood  her  in 
good  stead,  for  the  soldiers  used  to  say  that  a  wound 
which  Miss  Nightingale  dressed  "was  sure  to  get  well." 

She  felt  a  strong  craving  for  work,  more  even  than  the 
schools  and  cottages,  the  care  of  the  young,  the  sick,  and 


298  These  Splendid  Wofnen 

the  aged   (in  which  she  followed  her  mother's  example) 
could  afford  her  at  her  father's  home. 
Mrs.   Brownings  tells  us  to 

"Get  leave  to  work 
In  this   world;    'tis  the  best  you  get  at  all." 

Florence  Nightingale  not  only  got  leave  to  work,  but 
did  so,  very  quietly  but  very  persistently.  And  so  she 
became  a  pioneer  for  less  courageous  souls,  and  won  for 
them  also  "leave  to  work."  Taught  by  her  father,  she 
soon  learned  to  distinguish  between  what  was  really  good 
work  and  which  mere  make-believe.  She  had  many  op- 
portunities even  as  a  child  of  seeing  really  fine,  artistic 
work  both  in  science  and  art.  She  set  up  a  high  standard, 
and  was  never  satisfied  with  anything  short  of  the  best, 
either  in  herself  or  others.  It  is  a  grand  thing  to  know 
good  work  when  you  see  it. 

The  love  of  work,  however,  with  Florence  Night- 
ingale always  went  hand  in  hand  with  that  love  for  every 
living  thing  in  God's  world,  which  was  born  with  her, 
and  which  was  never  crowded  out  by  all  this  education. 
As  she  grew  up  she  more  and  more  felt  that  helpfulness 
was  the  first  law  of  her  being;  but  her  reason  and  in- 
tellect having  been  so  carefully  trained,  she  was  thor- 
oughly persuaded  that  in  order  to  help  effectually,  one 
must  know  thoroughly  both  the  cause  of  suffering  and 
its  radical  cure. 

The  study  of  nursing  had  an  irresistible  attraction  for 
her.  Few  people  in  England  at  that  time  valued  nursing. 
Florence  Nightingale  was  convinced  that  indifference 
arose  from  the  all  but  absolute  ignorance  of  what  nursing 
should  be,  and  she  set  herself  to  acquire  the  necessary 
knowledge  to  enable  her  to  carry  it  out  in  the  very  best 
and  most  scientific  way.  She  never  lost  an  opportunity 
of  visiting  a  hospital  either  at  home  or  abroad.  She 
gave  up  the  life  of   so-called  "pleasure"  which  it  was 


These  Splendid  Women  299 

then  considered  a  young  woman  of  her  position  ought 
to  lead,  and  after  having  very  carefully  examined  m- 
numerable  nursing  institutions  at  home  and  abroad,  at 
length  went  to  the  well-known  Pastor  Fliedner  s  Deacon- 
esses at  Kaiserswerth,  where  she  remained  for  several 

months.  ^  ,.•        „ 

When  "Sweet  Agnes  Jones,"  who  was  at  one  time  a 
"Nightingale"  probationer  at  St.  Thomas's,  was  learmng 
to  nurse  at  Kaiserswerth  several  years  later,  she  found 
that  Florence  Nightingale  was  tenderly  remembered 
there  not  only  for  her  wonderful  skill,  but  for  the  earnest- 
ness with  which  she  had  tried  to  win  the  souls  of  her 

sick  people  to  Christ.  ...  ,   .       i  r 

After  leaving  Kaiserswerth,  Miss  Nightingale  was  for 
a  while  with  the  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  in  Pans, 
so  anxious  was  she  to  see  how  nursing  was  carried  on 
under  many  different  systems.  It  was  during  1851,  the 
year  of  the  first  Great  Exhibition,  that  she  was  thus  fitting 
herself  practically  for  the  great  task  that  lay  before  her 
in  the  not  very  distant  future.  .   .       ,     ^       j 

On  her  return  to  England,  Miss  Nightingale  found  a 
patient  that  required  all  her  time  and  help  of  every  kind. 
This  patient  was  none  other  than  the  Sanatorium  in 
Harley  Street  for  gentlewomen  of  limited  means.  ^  into 
the  saving  of  this  valuable  institution  Miss  Nightingale 
threw  all  her  energy,  and  for  two  or  three  years  hidden 
away  from  the  outside  world,  she  was  working  day  and 
night  for  her  poor  suffering  ladies,  until  at  length  she 
was  able  to  feel  that  the  Sanatorium  was  not  only  in  good 
health  but  on  the  high  road  to  permanent  success. 

Florence  Nightingale's  own  health,  however,  gave  way 
under  the  long-continued  strain  of  anxiety  and  fatigue ; 
she  was  obliged  to  leave  the  invalids  for  whom  she  had 
done  so  much,  and  go  home  for  the  rest  and  change  she 
so  sorely  needed.  . 

Now,  while  Miss  Nightingale  had  been  quietly  gettmg 
"Harley  Street"  into  working  order,  the  gravest  and  most 


300  These  Splendid  Women 

terrible  changes  had  taken  place  in  the  affairs  of  the 
nation,  and  not  only  in  those  of  England,  but  in  those 
of  the  whole  of  Europe. 

In  1851,  when  the  first  Great  Exhibition  was  opened, 
all  was  peace — the  long  peace  of  forty  years  was  still 
unbroken,  people  said  it  never  was  to  be  broken  again, 
and  that  wars  and  rumors  of  wars  had  come  to  an  end. 
So  much  for  human  foreknowledge.  By  the  autumn 
of  1854,  the  horrors  of  the  Crimean  War  had  reached 
their  climax.  The  Times  was  full,  day  by  day,  of  the 
most  thrilHng  and  appalling  descriptions  of  the  hideous 
sufferings  of  our  brave  men,  sufferings  caused  quite  as 
much  by  the  utter  breakdown  of  the  sanitary  admin- 
istration as  by  even  the  deadly  battles  and  trench- work; 
while  every  post  was  bringing  agonizing  private  letters 
appealing  for  help. 

Men  were  wounded  in  the  Crimea,  the  hospitals  were 
far  off  at  Scutari,  the  wide  and  stormy  Black  Sea  had 
to  be  crossed  to  reach  them ;  the  stores  of  food,  clothing, 
and  medicine  that  might  have  saved  many  a  life  were 
at  Varna,  or  lost  in  the  Black  Prince;  the  state  of  the 
great  Barrack  Hospital  at  Scutari  was  indescribably  hor- 
rible ;  everybody  was  frantic  to  rush  to  the  relief ;  no  one 
knew  what  best  to  do ;  public  feeling  was  at  fever-heat. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise  when  William  Howard  Rus- 
sell, the  Times  correspondent,  was  constantly  writing  such 
true  but  heartrending  letters  as  this  ? — 

"The  commonest  accessories  of  a  hospital  are  wanting; 
there  is  not  the  least  attention  paid  to  decency  or  cleanli- 
ness; the  stench  is  appalHng;  the  foetid  air  can  barely 
struggle  out  to  taint  the  atmosphere,  save  through  the 
chinks  in  the  walls  and  roofs ;  and,  for  all  I  can  observe, 
these  men  die  without  the  least  effort  being  made  to  save 
them.  There  they  lie,  just  as  they  were  let  gently  down 
on  the  ground  by  the  poor  fellows,  their  comrades,  who 
brought  them  on  their  backs  from  the  camp  with  the 
greatest  tenderness,  but  who  are  not  allowed  to  remain 


These  Splendid  Women  301 

with  them.  The  sick  appear  to  be  tended  by  the  sick, 
and  the  dying  by  the  dying." 

Miss  Nightingale,  who  was  then  recovering  from  her 
Harley  Street  nursing,  deeply  felt  the  intensity  of  the 
crisis  that  was  moving  the  whole  nation;  but,  whereas 
the  panic  had  driven  most  of  the  kind  people  who  were 
so  eager  to  help  the  army  nearly  "off  their  heads,"  it 
only  made  hers  the  cooler  and  clearer.  She  wrote  offer- 
ing her  services  to  Mr.  Sidney  Herbert,  afterwards  Lord 
Herbert,  the  Minister  for  War,  who,  together  with  his 
wife,  had  long  known  her,  and  had  recognised  her  won- 
derful organizing  faculties,  and  her  great  practical  ex- 
perience. 

It  was  on  the  15th  of  October  that  she  wrote  to  Mr. 
Herbert.  On  the  very  same  day  the  Minister  had  written 
to  her.  Their  letters  crossed.  Mr.  Herbert,  who  had 
himself  given  much  attention  to  military  hospitals,  laid 
before  Miss  Nightingale,  in  his  now  historical  letter,  a 
plan  for  nursing  the  sick  and  wounded  at  Scutari. 

"There  is,  as  far  as  I  know,"  he  wrote,  "only  one 
person  in  England  capable  of  organizing  and  directing 
such  a  plan,  and  I  have  been  several  times  on  the  point 
of  asking  you  if  you  would  be  disposed  to  make  the  at- 
tempt. That  it  will  be  difficult  to  form  a  corps  of  nurses, 
no  one  knows  better  than  yourself." 

After  specifying  the  difficulty  in  finding  not  only  good 
nurses,  but  good  nurses  who  would  he  willing  to  submit 
to  authority,  he  goes  on,  "I  have  this  simple  question 
to  put  to  you.  Could  you  go  out  yourself  and  take  charge 
of  everything?  It  is,  of  course,  understood  that  you  will 
have  absolute  authority  over  all  the  nurses,  unlimited 
power  to  draw  on  the  Government  for  all  you  judge  neces- 
sary to  the  success  of  your  mission;  and  I  think  I  may 
assure  you  of  the  cooperation  of  the  medical  staff.  Your 
personal  qualities,  your  knowledge,  and  your  authority 
in  administrative  affairs  all  fit  you  for  this  position." 

Miss  Nightingale  at  once  concurred  in  Mr.  Herbert's 


302  These  Splendid  Women 

proposal.  The  materials  for  a  staff  of  good  nurses  did 
not  exist,  and  she  had  to  put  up  with  the  best  that  could 
be  gathered  on  such  short  notice. 

On  the  21st,  a  letter  by  Mr.  Herbert  from  the  War 
Office  told  the  world  that  "Miss  Nightingale,  accompanied 
by  thirty-four  nurses,  will  leave  this  evening.  Miss  Night- 
ingale, who  has,  I  believe,  greater  practical  experience  of 
hospital  administration  and  treatment  than  any  other  lady 
in  this  country,  has,  with  a  self-devotion  for  which  I  have 
no  words  to  express  my  gratitude,  undertaken  this  noble 
but  arduous  work." 

A  couple  of  days  later  there  was  a  paragraph  in  the 
Times  from  Miss  Nightingale  herself,  referring  to  the 
gifts  for  the  soldiers  that  had  been  offered  so  lavishly: 
"Miss  Nightingale  neither  invites  nor  refuses  the  gen- 
erous offers.  Her  banking  account  is  open  at  Messrs. 
Coutts'."  On  the  30th  of  October,  the  Times  republished 
from  the  Examiner  a  letter  headed  "Who  is  Miss  Night- 
ingale?" and  signed  "One  who  has  known  her."  Then 
was  made  known  to  the  British  pubHc  for  the  first  time 
who  the  woman  that  had  gone  to  the  aid  of  the  sick  and 
wounded  really  was;  then  it  was  shown  that  she  was  no 
hospital  matron,  but  a  young  and  singularly  graceful  and 
accomplished  gentlewoman  of  wealth  and  position,  who 
had,  not  in  a  moment  of  national  enthusiasm,  but  as  the 
set  purpose  of  her  life  from  girlhood  up,  devoted  herself 
to  the  studying  of  God's  great  and  good  laws  of  health, 
and  to  trying  to  apply  them  to  the  help  of  her  suffering 
fellow-creatures. 

From  that  30th  of  October,  1854,  the  heroine  of  the 
Crimean  War  was  Florence  Nightingale,  and  the  heroine 
of  that  war  will  she  be  while  the  English  tongue  exists, 
and  English  history  is  read.  The  national  enthusiasm  for 
her  was  at  once  intense;  and  it  grew  deeper  and  more 
intense  as  week  by  week  revealed  her  powers.  "Less 
talent  and  energy  of  character,  less  singleness  of  purpose 
and   devotion,   could   never  have   combined   the   hetero- 


These  Splendid  Women  303 

geneous  elements  which  she  gathered  together  in  one 
common  work  and  labour  of  love." 

I  met,  the  other  day,  a  lady  who  saw  something  of 
Miss  Nightingale  just  before  she  went  out  to  the  East. 
This  lady  tells  me  that  Miss  Nightingale  was  then  most 
graceful  in  appearance,  tall  and  slight,  very  quiet  and 
still.  At  first  sight  her  earnest  face  struck  one  as  cold; 
but  when  she  began  to  speak  she  grew  very  animated, 
and  her  dark  eyes  shone  out  with  a  peculiarly  star-like 
brightness. 

This  was  the  woman  whose  starting  for  the  East  was 
at  once  felt  to  be  the  beginning  of  better  things;  but 
so  prejudiced  were  many  good  English  people  against 
women-nurses  for  soldiers  that  Mrs.  Jameson,  writing  at 
the  time,  calls  the  scheme  "an  undertaking  wholly  new 
to  our  English  customs,  much  at  variance  with  the  usual 
education  given  to  women  in  this  country."  She,  sensible 
woman,  one  in  advance  of  her  day,  hoped  it  would  suc- 
ceed, but  hoped  rather  faintly.  "If  it  succeeds,"  she 
goes  on,  "it  will  be  the  true,  the  lasting  glory  of  Florence 
Nightingale,  and  her  band  of  devoted  assistants,  that  they 
have  broken  down  a  'Chinese  wall  of  prejudices,'  religious, 
social,  professional,  and  have  established  a  precedent 
which  will,  indeed,  multiply  the  good  to  all  time." 

The  little  band  of  nurses  crossed  the  channel  to  Bou- 
logne, where  they  found  the  fisherwomen  eager  for  the 
honor  of  carrying  their  luggage  to  the  railway.  This 
display,  however,  seemed  to  Miss  Nightingale  to  be  so 
out  of  keeping  with  the  deep  gravity  of  her  mission,  that, 
at  her  wish,  it  was  not  repeated  at  any  of  the  stopping- 
places  during  the  route.  The  Vectis  took  the  nurses  across 
the  Mediterranean,  and  a  terribly  rough  passage  they  had. 
On  November  5th,  the  very  day  on  which  the  battle  of 
Inkermann  was  fought,  the  ship  arrived  at  Scutari. 

Miss  Nightingale  and  her  nurses  landed  during  the 
afternoon,  and  it  was  remarked  at  the  time  that  their  neat 
black  dresses  formed  a  strong  contrast  to  those  of  the 


304  These  Splendid  Women 

usual  hospital  attendants.  A  large  number  of  men, 
wounded  at  Balaclava,  had  been  landed  the  day  before. 

The  great  Barrack  Hospital  at  Scutari,  which  had  been 
lent  to  the  British  by  the  Turkish  Government,  was  an 
enormous  quadrangular  building,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  each 
way,  with  square  towers  at  each  angle.  It  stood  on  the 
Asiatic  shore  a  hundred  feet  above  the  Bosphorus.  An- 
other large  hospital  stood  near ;  the  whole,  at  times,  con- 
taining as  many  as  four  thousand  men.  The  whole  were 
placed  under  Miss  Nightingale's  care.  The  nurses  were 
lodged  in  the  south-east  tower. 

The  extent  of  corridors  in  the  great  hospital,  story 
above  story,  in  which  the  sick  and  wounded  were  at 
first  laid  on  wretched  paillasses  as  close  together  as  they 
could  be  placed,  made  her  inspection  and  care  most  diffi- 
cult. There  were  two  rows  of  mattresses  in  the  cor- 
ridors, where  two  persons  could  hardly  pass  abreast 
between  foot  and  foot.  The  mortality,  when  the  Times 
first  took  up  the  cause  of  the  sick  and  wounded,  was 
enorm.ous. 

In  the  Crimea  itself  there  was  not  half  the  mor- 
tality in  the  tents,  horrible  as  were  the  sufferings  and 
privations  of  the  men  there. 

"The  whole  of  yesterday,"  writes  one  of  the  nurses 
a  few  days  after  they  had  arrived,  "one  could  only  forget 
one's  own  existence,  for  it  was  spent,  first  in  sewing  the 
men's  mattresses  together,  and  then  in  washing  them  and 
assisting  the  surgeons,  when  we  could,  in  dressing  their 
ghastly  wounds  after  their  five  days'  confinement  on  board 
ship,  during  which  space  their  wounds  had  not  been 
dressed.  Hundreds  of  men  with  fever,  dysentery,  and 
cholera  (the  wounded  were  the  smaller  portion)  filled 
the  wards  in  succession,  from  the  overcrowded  trans- 
ports." 

Miss  Nightingale's  position  was  a  most  difficult  one. 
Everything  was  in  disorder,  and  every  official  was  ex- 
tremely jealous  of  interference.    Miss  Nightingale,  how- 


These  Splendid  Women  305* 

ever,  at  once  impressed  upon  her  staff  the  duty  of  obey- 
ing the  doctors'  orders,  as  she  did  herself.  An  invalid's 
kitchen  was  established  immediately  by  her  to  supplement 
the  rations;  a  laundry  was  added;  the  nursing  itself  was, 
however,  the  most  difficult  and  important  part  of  the 
work. 

But  it  would  take  far  too  much  space  to  give  all  the 
details  of  that  kind  but  strict  administration  which 
brought  comparative  comfort  and  a  low  death-rate  into 
the  Scutari  hospitals.  During  a  year  and  a-half  the 
labor  of  getting  the  hospitals  into  working  order  was 
enormous,  but  before  the  Peace  arrived  they  were  models 
of  what  such  institutions  may  be. 

Speaking  of  Miss  Nightingale  in  the  Hospital  at 
Scutari,  the  Times  correspondent  wrote:  "Wherever 
there  is  disease  in  its  most  dangerous  form,  and  the 
hand  of  the  spoiler  distressingly  nigh,  there  is  that  in- 
comparable woman  sure  to  be  seen;  her  benignant  pres- 
ence is  an  influence  for  good  comfort  even  amid  the 
struggles  of  expiring  nature.  She  is  a  'ministering 
angel,'  without  any  exaggeration,  in  these  hospitals,  and 
as  her  slender  form  glides  quietly  along  each  corridor, 
every  poor  fellow's  face  softens  with  gratitude  at  the 
sight  of  her.  When  all  the  medical  officers  have  retired 
for  the  night,  and  silence  and  darkness  have  settled  down 
upon  these  miles  of  prostrate  sick,  she  may  be  observed, 
alone,  with  a  little  lamp  in  her  hand,  making  her  solitary 
rounds.  With  the  heart  of  a  true  woman  and  the  manner 
of  a  lady  accomplished  and  refined  beyond  most  of  her 
sex,  she  combines  a  surprising  calmness  of  judgment  and 
promptitude  and  decision  of  character.  The  popular  in- 
stinct was  not  mistaken,  which  when  she  set  out  from 
England  on  her  mission  of  mercy,  hailed  her  as  a  heroine ; 
I  trust  that  she  may  not  earn  her  title  to  a  higher,  though 
sadder,  appellation.  No  one  who  has  observed  her  fragile 
figure  and  delicate  health  can  avoid  misgivings  lest  these 
should  fail." 


306  These  Splendid  Women 

Public  feeling  bubbled  up  into  poetry.  Even  doggerel 
ballads  sung  about  the  streets  praised 

"The    Nightingale    of    the    East, 
For  her  heart  it  means  good." 

Among  many  others,  the  American  poet,  Longfellow, 
wrote  the  charming  poem,  The  Lady  with  the  Lamp,  so 
beautifully  illustrated  by  the  statuette  of  Florence  Night- 
ingale at  St.  Thomas's  Hospital,  suggested  by  the  well- 
known  incident  recorded  in  a  soldier's  letter : 

"She  would  speak  to  one  and  another,  and  nod  and 
smile  to  many  more;  but  she  could  not  do  it  to  all,  you 
know,  for  we  lay  there  by  hundreds;  but  we  could  kiss 
her  shadow  as  it  fell,  and  lay  our  heads  on  our  pillows 
again  content." 

"Lo !  in  that  house  of  misery 
A  lady  with  a  lamp  I  see 

Pass  through  the  glimmering  gloom, 
And  flit  from  room  to  room. 

"And  slow,  as  in  a  dream  of  bliss, 
The  speechless  sufferer  turns  to  kiss 
Her  shadow  as  it  falls 
Upon  the  darkening  walls. 

"On  England's  annals,  through  the  long 
Hereafter  of  her  speech  and  song, 
A  light  its  rays  shall  cast 
From  portals  of  the  past. 

"A  lady  with  a  lamp  shall  stand 
In  the  great  history  of  the  land, 
A  noble  type  of  good, 
Heroic   womanhood." 

In  the  following  spring  Miss  Nightingale  crossed  the 
Black  Sea  and  visited  Balaclava,  where  the  state  of  the 
hospitals  in  huts  was  extremely  distressing,  as  help  of 
all  kinds  was  even  more  difificult  to  obtain  there  than 
at  Scutari.  Here  Miss  Nigthingale  spent  some  weeks, 
until  she  was  prostrated  by  a  severe  attack  of  the  Crimean 
fever,  of  which  she  very  nearly  died. 


These  Splendid  Women  307 

The  characteristic  little  extract  following  will  show  at 
once  her  power  of  observation,  and  how  readily  she  turns 
every  scrap  of  personal  experience  to  advantage  for  other 
sufferers : 

"I  have  seen  in  fevers  (and  felt  when  I  was  a  fever 
patient  myself  in  the  Crimea)  the  most  acute  suffering 
produced  from  the  patient  (in  a  hut)  not  being  able  to 
see  out  of  window,  and  the  knots  in  the  wood  being  the 
only  view.  I  shall  never  forget  the  rapture  of  fever 
patients  over  a  bunch  of  bright-coloured  flowers:  I  re- 
member (in  my  own  case)  a  nosegay  of  wild  flowers  being 
sent  me,  and  from  that  moment  recovery  becoming  more 
rapid." 

But  at  length  the  Crimean  War  came  to  an  end.  The 
nation  was  prepared  to  welcome  its  heroine  with  the  most 
passionate  enthusiasm.  But  Florence  Nightingale  quietly 
slipped  back  unnoticed  to  her  Derbyshire  home,  without 
its  being  known  that  she  had  passed  through  London. 

Worn  out  with  ill-health  and  fatigue,  and  naturally 
shrinking  from  publicity,  the  public  at  large  has  scarcely 
ever  seen  her ;  she  has  been  a  great  invalid  ever  since  the 
war,  and   for  many  years  hardly  ever  left  her  house. 

But  her  energy  has  been  untiring.  She  was  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  Red  Cross  Society  for  the  relief  of  the 
sick  and  wounded  in  war.  When  the  Civil  War  broke 
out  in  America  she  was  consulted  as  to  all  the  details 
of  the  military  nursing  there.  "Her  name  is  almost  more 
known  amongst  us  than  even  in  Europe,"  wrote  an 
American.  During  the  Franco-German  War  she  gave 
advice  for  the  chief  hospitals  under  the  Crown  Princess, 
the  Princess  Alice,  and  others.  The  Children's  Hospital 
at  Lisbon  was  erected  from  her  plans.  The  hospitals  in 
Australia,  India,  and  other  places,  have  received  her  care. 
A  large  proportion  of  the  plans  for  the  building  and 
organization  of  the  hospitals  erected  during  the  last 
twenty-five  years  in  England  have  passed  through  her 
hands. 


308  These  Splendid  Women 

The  Queen,  who  had  foflowed  her  work  with  constant 
interest,  presented  her  with  a  beautiful  and  costly  dec- 
oration. The  nation  gave  i50,000  to  found  the  Night- 
ingale Home. 

In  this  home  Miss  Nightingale  takes  the  deepest  in- 
terest, constantly  having  the  nurses  and  sisters  to  visit 
her,  and  learning  from  them  the  most  minute  details  of 
its  working.  Great  is  evidently  her  rejoicing  when  one 
of  her  "Nightingales"  proves  to  be  a  really  fine  nurse, 
such  a  one,  for  instance,  as  Agnes  Jones,  the  reformer 
of  workhouse  nursing. 

When  Agnes  Jones  died  in  1868,  Miss  Nightingale 
broke  through  her  retirement  in  an  article  in  a  monthly 
magazine,  called  "Una  and  her  Lions,"  a  sketch,  indeed, 
of  her  friend's  taming  the  paupers,  but  far  more  is  it 
a  portrait  of  Florence  Nightingale  by  herself.  This 
article  now  forms  the  introduction  of  the  well-known 
memorials  of  Agnes  Jones.  It  is  a  noble  tribute  from 
one  great  worker  to  another.  It  throws  so  much  light 
on  the  true  character  of  Florence  Nightingale  herself ; 
it  brings  you  closely  into  contact  with  her  own  heart 
and  brain,  that  you  feel  as  you  read  it  she  must  be 
writing  her  own  experience.  A  true  portrait  of  herself 
by  herself  comes  out  when  we  look  at  that  record  as  a 
whole.  You  see  how  Florence  Nightingale  herself  had 
to  fight,  first  against  the  people  who  thought  nursing  as 
a  profession  unfit  for  decent  women,  then  with  those 
who  admitted  it  might  be  followed  by  "the  lower  middle- 
class,"  and  lastly  with  those  who  considered  it  a  natural 
gift,  for  which  no  training  at  all  was  necessary. 

Just  notice  the  strong  terseness,  the  business-like 
pointedness,  as  well  as  the  beautiful  earnestness,  both 
religious  and  artistic,  of  the  following.  After  telling 
us  of  the  wonders  wrought  by  Una  on  her  paupers, 
more  hard  to  tame  than  lions,  she  goes  on:  "In  less 
than  three  years  she  did  this.  And  how  did  she  do  all 
this?" 


These  Splendid  Women  309 

"Agnes  had  trained  herself  to  the  utmost;  she  was 
always  training  herself;  for  nursing  is  no  holiday  work. 
Nursing  is  an  art ;  and,  if  it  is  to  be  made  an  art,  requires 
as  exclusive  a  devotion,  as  hard  a  preparation,  as  any 
painter's  or  sculptor's  work;  for  what  is  the  having  to 
do  with  dead  canvas  or  cold  marble  compared  with  hav- 
ing to  do  with  the  living  body,  the  temple  of  God's 
Spirit?  Nursing  is  one  of  the  Fine  Arts;  I  had  almost 
said,  the  finest  of  the  Fine  Arts." 

*Tid-fadding"  was  one  of  the  besetting  sins  of  most 
women  in  the  days  when  Florence  Nightingale  was 
young.  It  was  certainly  one  of  the  sins  most  abhorrent 
to  her  energetic  nature.  "How  can  any  undervalue  busi- 
ness habits  ?  As  if  anything  could  be  done  without  them !" 
she  exclaims. 

This  was  the  high  position  Florence  Nightingale  con- 
quered for  her  fellow-women.  Hundreds  have  occupied, 
and  are  still  occupying,  the  ground  she  won  for  them. 

"And  I  give  a  quarter  of  a  century's  European  experi- 
ence," she  goes  on,  "when  I  say  that  the  happiest  people, 
the  fondest  of  their  occupation,  the  most  thankful  for 
their  lives,  are  in  my  opinion  those  engaged  in  sick 
nursing." 

I  will  quote  no  more,  but  if  you  really  want  to  know 
Florence  Nightingale,  read  the  Introduction  to  "Agnes 
Jones,"  which  shows  that  Miss  Nightingale  has  as  great 
a  power  of  administrating  pen  and  ink  as  hospitals.  Her 
invalid  Hfe  since  the  war  has  been  full  of  business;  the 
amount  of  work  of  all  kinds,  at  home  and  abroad,  she  has 
done  since  the  war  is  enormous.  "Notes  on  Nursing," 
an  invaluable  book  which  the  Medical  Times  declared  no 
one  else  could  have  written,  has  entirely  conquered  the 
bad  old  ideas,  and  has  shown  what  an  art  and  science 
nursing  can  become;  better  still,  it  has  "vindicated  the 
ways  of  God  with  man."  "Notes  on  Hospitals,"  less  well 
known  to  the  general  public,  contains  a  perfect  mine  of 
information,  the  gist  of   which   she  has  reduced,   in  a 


310  These  Splendid  Women 

most  marvellous  appendix,  under  five  simple  headings.  A 
few  remarks  from  the  preface  of  the  third  edition  will 
show  with  what  patient  care  she  had  thought  out  the 
subject. 

"It  may  seem  a  strange  principle  to  enunciate  as  the 
very  first  requirement  in  a  hospital,  that  it  should  do  the 
sick  no  harm.  It  is  quite  necessary,  nevertheless,  to  lay 
down  such  a  principle,  because  the  actual  mortality  in 
hospitals,  especially  in  those  of  large  crowded  cities,  is 
very  much  higher  than  any  calculation  founded  on  the 
mortality  of  the  same  class  of  diseases  among  patients 
treated  out  of  hospital  would  lead  us  to  expect.  The 
knowledge  of  this  fact  first  induced  me  to  examine  into 
the  influence  exercised  by  hospital  construction  on  the 
duration  and  death-rate  of  cases  received  into  the  wards" 

Of^cials  in  high  places,  ever  since  the  Crimean  War, 
have  sent  Miss  Nightingale  piles,  mountains,  one  might 
say,  of  Reports  and  Blue  Books  for  her  advice.  She 
I  seems  to  be  able  to  condense  any  number  of  them  into 
half-a-dozen  telling  sentences ;  for  instance,  the  mortality 
in  Indian  regiments  during  times  of  peace  became  ex- 
ceedingly alarming.  Reports  on  the  subject  were  poured 
in  upon  her. 

"The  men  are  simply  treated  like  Strasbourg  geese," 
she  said  in  effect.  "They  eat,  sleep,  frizzle  in  the  sun, 
and  eat  and  sleep  again.  Treat  them  reasonably,  and 
they  will  be  well." 

She  has  v/ritten  much  valuable  advice  on  "How  to 
live  and  not  die  in  India." 

Children's  Hospitals  have  also  engaged  much  of  her 
attention.  You  cannot  open  one  of  her  books  at  hazard 
without  being  struck  with  some  shrewd  remark  that  tells 
how  far-reaching  is  her  observation;  as  in  this,  on  the 
playgrounds  of  Children's  Hospitals:  "A  large  garden- 
ground,  laid  out  in  sward  and  grass  hillocks,  and  such 
ways  as  children  like  (not  too  pretty,  or  the  children  will 
be  scolded  for  spoiling  it)  must  be  provided." 


These  splendid  Women  311 

Here,  I  am  sorry  to  find,  my  space  comes  to  an  end, 
but  not,  I  hope,  before  I  have  been  able  to  sketch  in 
some  slight  way  what  great  results  will  assuredly  follow 
when  Faith  and  Science  are  united  in  one  person.  In  the 
days  which  we  may  hope  are  now  dawning,  when  these 
gifts  will  be  united,  not  in  an  individual  here  and  there, 
but  in  a  large  portion  of  our  race,  there  will  doubtless 
be  many  a  devoted  woman  whose  knowledge  may  equal 
her  practical  skill  and  her  love  for  God  and  her  fellow- 
creatures,  who  will  understand,  even  more  thoroughly 
than  most  of  us  now  can  (most  of  us  being  still  so 
ignorant),  how  deep  a  debt  of  gratitude  is  due  to  her 
who  first  opened  for  women  so  many  paths  of  duty, 
and  raised  nursing  from  a  menial  employment  to  the 
dignity  of  an  "Art  of  Charity" — to  England's  first  great 
nurse,  the  wise,  beloved,  and  far-seeing  heroine  of  the 
Crimean  War,  the  Lady  of  the  Lamp,  Florence 
Nightingale. 


ISJotes  on 
These  Splendid  Women 

Note  1.— Cleopatra,  daughter  of  Ptolemy  XI    (Auletes),  King 
of  Egypt,  was  born  in  68  B.  C,  of  pure  Macedonian  Greek 
origin.     At   the   death   of   her    father   in   51    B.C.,    she   and 
her  brother,  Ptolemy,  were  associated  in  royal  power.     Later, 
her  brother  expelled  her  from  the  throne,  but  Julms  Caesar, 
arriving  just  then  in  Alexandria    (48  B.C.),   re-mstated  her 
and  when  Ptolemy  died  that  same  year,  Cleopatra  was  made 
Queen  of   Egypt.     She  was  a  woman   of   great  ability  and 
ambition,  who  for  twenty  years  kept  her  country  from  entire 
subjugation    to    the    Roman    Empire,    through    her    feminine 
appeal    to   her   conquerors.      When    she    failed  to   subjugate 
Augustus   Csesar  with  her  charms,  and  her  participation   in 
his  triumph  at  Rome  was  imminent,  she  committed  suicide  by 
applying  the  poisonous  asp  to  her  arm,  dying  in  the  thirty- 
eighth  year  of  her  life  (30  B.C.). 
Note  2  — Zenobia  was  another  woman  who  held  at  bay  the  Roman 
Emperors,  though  by  the  force  of  arms    a  few  years  after 
Cleopatra.     Zenobia   was   the    wife   of    Odenathus,    Prince— 
afterwards    styled    King— of    Palmyra,    so    honored    for    his 
signal   services  against  the    Persians   on   behalf   pf   the   Em- 
peror Gallienus.    After  the  death  of  her  husband  in  266  A.  D., 
Zenobia    assumed    the    throne   of    the    East    in   the    territory 
conquered    by    him,    and    moreover    subjugated    Egypt,      l^or 
six  years  thereafter  she  fought  off  the  Roman  generals  sent 
to    reduce   her   power,   aiming   at   complete   independence   ot 
Palmyra  from  the  Roman  yoke.     But  finally,  in  a  disastrous 
battle,  following  the  treachery  of  her  allies,  she  was  defeated 
by  Aurelian  in  272,   and  was  herself   captured.     Zenobia,   a 
woman  of  more  balanced  character,  did  not  try  to  make  aNvay 
with  herself  because  of  the  approaching  triumph  of  Aurelian. 
She  accepted  the  ignominy  as  valiantly  as  a  pitched  battle, 
was   taken  to   Rome,   and   figured   in   Aurelian's    triumph   in 
golden  chains,  among  his  other  trophies.     That  over,  sh^  was 
permitted  to  live  the  rest  of  her  life  in  a  villa  near  Tivoli, 
in  all  the  comfort  of  a  Roman  noble-woman.     Zenobia  was 
as  strenuous  and  sagacious  a  fighter  as  any  man  of  her  day, 
as  Gibbon  has  told  in  his  detailed  and  vivid  manner. 


314         Notes  on  These  Splendid  Women 

Note  3. — Joan  of  Arc  was  born  in  Domremy  in  Upper  Lorraine, 
some  miles  southwest  of  Nancy,  in  1412.  _  From  the  age  of 
thirteen  she  had  constantly  heard  mysterious  voices,  calling 
her  to  be  the  deliverer  of  France  from  the  English  who  then 
overran  the  country.  After  the  dramatic  hearing  with  the 
Dauphin  at  Chinon,  where  she  recognized  the  heir  of  France 
who  scarcely  recognized  himself,  she  secured  the  confidence 
of  soldiers  like  Dunois  and  Alegon,  and  Charles  allowed  her 
to  lead  an  expedition  for  the  relief  of  the  sorely  invested 
Orleans.  Starting  April  29,  1429,  within  two  days  a  victory 
was  won,  and  by  May  8  the  siege  of  Orleans  was  raised  and 
the  English  were  in  full  retreat.  On  July  17  Charles  VII  was 
formally  crowned  and  anointed  King  of  France  at  Rheims. 
Her  mission  now  ended,  the  Maid  of  Orleans  sought  to  return 
to  her  native  village,  but  she  was  at  length  persuaded  that 
she  must  go  on  other  military  expeditions  to  expel  the  English 
completely  from  the  soil  of  France.  Finally,  when  she  was 
attempting  the  relief  of  Compiegne,  she  was  captured  by  the 
Burgundians,  May  24,  1430,  and  sold  to  the  English.  She 
was  imprisoned  at  Rouen,  where,  after  much  brutality,  she 
was  brought  to  a  mockery  of  a  trial  on  January  9,  1431. 
Pierre  Couchon,  bishop  of  Beauvais,  engineered  her  condem- 
nation as  a  sorceress  and  heretic,  by  infamous  trickery,  and 
on  May  30,  1431.  she  was  burned  at  the  stake,  so  high  that 
all  the  world  might  see.  And  the  world  saw  and  has  for 
these  centuries  stood  at  horror  at  this  unjust  end  of  the  slip 
of  a  girl  who  saved  France,  and  her  heavenly  appointment 
could  not  but  be  recognized.  At  last,  in  1909,  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  came  forward  to  make  some  recompense  to 
the  memory  of  the  simple  messenger  of  heaven,  and  on  April 
18,  in  the  basilica  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  Joan  of  Arc  was 
beatified  by  the  Pope,  in  the  presence  of  a  multitude,  including 
40,000  pilgrims  from  France. 

Note  4. — Vittoria  Coloxna  was  born  on  the  family  estate  of 
Marino  in  1492.  She  was  one  of  the  leading  spirits  among 
the  reform  party  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  her 
verses,  which  may  be  divided  into  two  sections,  were  first, 
those  inspired  by  her  dead  husband,  and  second,  those  on 
religious  themes.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  of  beautiful 
character  and  brilliant  intellect,  admired  by  many  great  men 
and  celebrated  by  Michelangelo  in  poems,  alone  sufficient 
to  insure  her  immortality.  Thomas  Adolphus  Trollope  has 
given  in  his  biography  a  romantic  picture  of  the  greatest 
woman  poet  of  her  age  and  one  of  the  most  outstanding  of 
all  ages.  When  Vittoria  Colonna  died  in  1547,  Michelangelo 
was  at  her   bedside. 

Note  5. — Catherine  de'  Medici,  Queen  of  France,  was  born  in 
Florence  in  1519.  She  married  Henry,  Due  d'Orleans,  after- 
ward Henry  II  of  France,  in  1538,  but  played  no  great  part 


Notes  on  These  Splendid  Women         315 

in  French  politics  until  1559,  when  the  first  of  her  three  sons 
ascended  the  throne  as  Francis  II.  Against  her  she  found 
two  parties,  each  as  strong  as  the  crown— the  Guises  and  the 
ultra-Catholics  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Protestants,  under 
Henry  of  Navarre,  on  the  other.  She  was  not  in  favor  oi 
the  Protestants,  but  nevertheless  entered  into  an  alliance  with 
them  against  the  Guises  until  1563,  when  she  transferred 
her  favor  to  the  opposite  side,  allying  herself  with  Spain  and 
the  Guise  party,  to  exterminate  the  Huguenots,  resulting  in  the 
Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  This  cruel  and  heartless 
woman,  dominating  her  sons,  Charles  IX  and  Henry  III,  was 
virtually  ruler  of  France,  subtle  and  shifty  in  policy,  which 
none  the  less  served  to  carry  France  over  a  difficult  period  of 
time. 
Note  6. — Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  only  daughter  of  James  V 
of  Scotland  and  Mary  of  Guise,  was  born  in  Linlithgow  Palace, 
while  her  father  was  on  his  deathbed,  thus  becoming  queen 
when  only  a  week  old.  All  the  more  important  years  of  her 
earlier  life  were  spent  in  France,  where  she  was  educated  with 
the  royal  children  under  the  direction  of  Margaret,  sister 
of  Henry  II.  In  1558  she  was  married  to  the  Dauphin,  son 
of  Catherine  de'  Medici,  who  came  to  the  throne  as  Francis 
II,  but  who  died  two  years  later.  Upon  his  death  Mary  re- 
turned to  Scotland,  where  she  married  Lord  Darnley  in  1565. 
Soon,  however,  she  became  estranged  from  Darnley,  and, 
coming  under  the  influence  of  Bothwell,  is  said  to  have  con- 
sented to  the  murder  of  her  husband  and  the  same  year 
married  his  murderer,  Bothwell,  May  15,  1567.  She  was 
imprisoned  and  forced  to  abdicate,  but  finally  escaped  into 
England,  where  she  was  received  by  Queen  Elizabeth  with  the 
hospitality  of  imprisonment.  For  Elizabeth  remembered  that 
upon  the  death  of  Mary  Tudor,  Mary  Stuart  had  laid  claim 
to  the  English  crown,  with  sufficient  justification.  Fully 
nineteen  years  were  spent  by  the  unfortunate  Mary  as  prisoner 
in  various  castles,  until  at  last,  in  the  spring  of  1586.  she  was 
charged  with  having  given  her  support  to  the  Babington 
conspiracy  against  the  life  of  Elizabeth,  and  was  finally  be- 
headed at  Fotheringay,  February  8,  1587.  'The  Casket 
Letters,"  according  to  a  declaration  made  by  the  Earl  of 
Morton,  afterward  regent  of  Scotland,  were  found  by  him  on 
June  20  1567,  in  a  silver  casket  taken  from  a  servant  of 
Bothwell  and  examined  before  witnesses.  The  documents 
were-  (1)  an  undated  promise  (in  French)  by  Mary  of 
marriage  to  Bothwell;  (2)  a  marriage  contract  in  Scotch, 
subscribed  by  Mary  and  Bothwell;  (3)  eight  letters  (in 
French)  supposed  to  have  been  written  by  Mary  to  Both- 
well'  and  (4)  a  series  of  French  sonnets.  The  letters  and 
sonnets  if  genuine,  implicate  Mary  ir.  the  murder  of  Darnley. 
Recent'  investigations,    however,    seem    to    prove    that    these 


316         Notes  on  These  Splendid  Women 

letters  were  forgeries  of  her  secretary,  and  the  world  is  still 
left  with  a  feeling  of  fond  pity  for  the  picturesque  but  un- 
fortunate queen,  and  inclined  to  applaud  the  remarkable  de- 
fense of  her  good  name  by  Algernon  Swinburne. 

Note  7. — Maria  Theresa  was  the  daughter  of  the  German 
Emperor  Charles  VI  and  was  bom  in  Vienna  in  1717.  She 
married  Francis  of  Lorraine,  whom,  when  crowned  her- 
self at  Presburg  in  1741,  she  nominated  joint  regent.  Her 
succession,  however,  was  challenged  by  Charles  Albert  of 
Bavaria,  who,  supported  by  the  Elector  of  Saxony  and  the 
King  of  Prussia,  as  well  as  other  European  rulers,  was  pro- 
claimed Emperor  in  1742  as  Charles  VII.  Then  Maria 
Theresa  threw  herself  upon  the  generosity  of  the,  Magyars, 
who  supported  her  in  the  Wars  of  the  Austrian  Succession 
which  followed,  winning  back  her  throne  in  1748.  She  was 
also  involved,  later,  in  the  Seven  Years'  War  (1756-1763) 
with  Frederick  the  Great,  over  Silesia.  In  1772  she  took  part, 
with  Frederick  the  Great  and  Catherine  11  of  Russia,  in  the 
partition  of  Poland,  acquiring  Galicia.  A  woman  feminine 
but  capable,  Maria  Theresa  was  responsible  for  the  insti- 
tution of  many  reforms  in  the  army,  in  justice  and  education; 
she  opened  the  ports  of  Trieste  and  Fiume  to  trade:  she  ex- 
pelled the  Jesuits  and  confiscated  much  church  property;  and 
she  also  abolished  legal  torture.  She  was  the  mother  of 
Joseph  II  and  Leopold  II,  and  of  Marie  Antoinette.  She 
died  in  1780. 

Note  8. — Madame  de  Pompadour  was  born  in  Paris  in  1721.  She 
was  the  mistress  of  Louis  XV  of  France,  who  met  her  at 
a  "bal  masque"  in  1745  and  was  captivated  by  her  charms 
and  established  her  at  Versailles.  He  ennobled  her  that  same 
year.  "La  Pompadour"  became  the  center  of  a  brilliant, 
intellectual  and  artistic  circle,  including  Voltaire,  Quesney, 
Boucher  and  Greuze.  Louis,  a  mere  puppet,  gave  her  tre- 
mendous power.  She  made  and  unmade  ministers,  diplomats 
and  generals.  During  the  Seven  Years'  War  France  supported 
her  hereditary  enemy,  Austria,  merely  because  Maria  Theresa 
had  written  a  courteous  letter  to  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour, 
while  Frederick  the  Great  composed  scandalous  verses  about 
her.  There  was  one  thing  that  is  not  so  incidental :  to  Madame 
de  Pompadour  the  credit  has  been  given  of  starting  the  first 
"Little  Theatre"  movement.  This  she  did  with  the  worthy  or 
unworthy  purpose  of  keeping  his  royal  highness's  attention 
upon  her  ability  as  a  woman  of  rare  intellectual  powers. 
She  died  in  1763. 

Note  9. — Charlotte  Corday,  a  descendant  of  Pierre  Comeille, 
was  born  in  1768.  ^  Though  of  noble  birth,  she  adopted  with 
enthusiasm  the  principles  of  the  revolution ;  but  its  bloody 
excesses  so  filled  her  with  horror  that  she  determined  to 
save  her  country  from  the  monsters  in  power.     The  worst 


Notes  on  These  Splendid  Women  317 

of  these  was  Marat,  whom  Charlotte  Corday  sought  out  with 
utmost  tenacity  and  assassinated  in  his  bathtub,  July  3, 
.  1793.  Four  days  later  she  paid  the  penalty,  composedly,  by 
the  guillotine.  She  has  been  celebrated  in  verse  and  prose 
by  Andre  Chenier,  Lamartine,  Michelet  and  Ponsard,  and 
in  paintings  by  Scheffer  and  Baudry.  Charlotte  Corday 
had  the  courage  of  her  convictions,  a  courage  that  made  her 
commit  a  sin  that  must  be,  if  her  beloved  France  would  be 
relieved  of  the  monstrosities  which  the  French  revolution  bore 
forth. 

Note  10.— Catherine  ii,  Empress  of  Russia,  daughter  of  a 
Prussian  field  marshal,  was  born  at  Stettin  in  1729.  She  was 
selected  by  the  Empress  Elizabeth  in  1745  as  wife  of  the  heir 
to  the  throne,  whom  she  married.  But  when,  upon  his  acces- 
sion in  1762,  Peter  III  attempted  to  divorce  her,  she  had  the 
army  and  the  clergy  with  her,  and  the  Emperor  was  impris- 
oned and  secretly  murdered.  Catherine  succeeded  to  the  throne 
(1762)  and  became  sole  ruler  of  all  Russia.  This  remarkable 
woman  governed  her  empire  with  great  energy,  instituting 
far-reaching  reforms,  acquiring  new  territory,  and  her  reign 
is  second  only  to  that  of  Peter  the  Great  in  importance. 
Though  a  Prussian  in  origin,  she  was  all  for  Russia,  for 
Great  Russia.  But  she  was  human  to  the  extreme,  and  every 
bit  a  woman.  Here  are  some  interesting  commandments 
she  made  which  have  recently  been  discovered  in  Leningrad: 
"(1)  Leave  your  rank  outside,  as  well  as  your  hat,  and  es- 
pecially your  sword.  (2)  Leave  your  right  of  precedence, 
your  pride,  and  similar  feeling,  outside  the  door.  (3)  Be 
gay,  but  do  not  spoil  anything;  do  not  break  or  gnaw  any- 
thing. (4)  Sit,  stand,  walk  as  you  will,  without  reference 
to  anybody.  (4)  Talk  moderately  and  not  very  loud,  so  as 
not  to  make  the  ears  and  heads  of  others  ache.  (6)  Argue 
without  anger  and  without  excitement.  (7)  Neither  sigh  nor 
yawn,  nor  make  anybody  dull  or  heavy.  (8)  In  all  innocent 
games,  whatever  one  proposes,  let  all  join.  (9)  Eat  what- 
ever is  sweet  and  savory,  but  drink  with  moderation,  so  that 
each  may  find  his  legs  upon  leaving  the  room.  (10)  Tell 
no  tales  out  of  school ;  whatever  goes  in  at  one  ear  must 
go  out  at  the  other  before  leaving  the  room." 

Note  11. — Florence  Nightingale,  the  pioneer  of  trained  army 
nursing,  was  born  in  1820  and,  after  a  quietly  forceful  life, 
died  in  1910.  When  reports  of  the  sufferings  of  the  troops 
in  Crimea  reached  England,  she  sailed,  in  October,  1854,  with 
a  staff  of  thirty-eight  volunteer  nurses  for  Scutari,  where 
she  toiled  until  the  English  troops  left  the  region  in  July, 
1856.  The  feeling  of  the  nation  found  expression  in  a  gift 
of  £50,000,  with  which  Miss  Nightingale  founded  a  training 
home  for  nurses.  The  childhood  story  of  her  pity  and  care 
for  an  injured  sheep-dog  is  the  keynote  of  her  kindly  life, 
as  brought  out  in  this  very  intimate  biography  by  Elizabeth 
Aldridge. 


The  Splendid  Books 

These  volumes  depict  the  dramatic  and  stirring  events  in 
the  lives  of  men  and  women  who  by  their  singular  qualities 
of  greatness  have  left  their  impress  on  the  history  of  the 
world.  These  interesting  books  are  more  distinguished  for 
having  been  written  by  the  great  masters  of  literature.  There 
is  a  new  and  interesting  introduction  for  each  volume. 

These  Splendid  Fighters 

This  book  presents  a  number  of  the  world's  outstanding  figures 
— generals,  statesmen,  rulers,  prophets,  priests,  founders  of  re- 
ligion— fighters  all,  of  whom  the  author,  Edward  Gibbon,  the 
great  historian,  has  painted  vivid  :.nd  distinguished  portraits.  Here 
we  find  Attila,  the  Hun ;  Belisarius,  the  Invincible :  Stilicho,  the 
Vandal  Governor  of  Rome;  Athanasius,  the  Unyielding  Priest; 
Mohammed,  the  Prophet;  and  Zingis  Khan,  the  Mongol 
Conqueror. 

Thes^  Splendid  Women 

History  furnishes  us  with  magnificent  women  characters.  For 
this  book  have  been  selected  a  number  of  these  eminent  feminine 
figures  whose  lives,  colorful  and  dramatic,  are  here  portrayed 
brilliantly  by  master  writers  and  biographers.  These  famous 
women  are  Cleopatra,  Zenobia,  Joan  of  Arc,  Catherine  de'  Medici, 
Vittoria  Colonna,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  Maria  Theresa,  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour,  Charlotte  Corday,  Catherine  the  Great,  and 
Florence    Nightingale. 

These  Splendid  Painters 

Intensely  interesting  are  the  vivid  biographies  in  this  book, 
because  of  the  insight  they  give  into  the  lives  of  men  who  have 
displayed  the  rarest  genius.  It  attains  the  rank  of  a  classic,  for 
each  account  is  written  by  Vasari,  whose  great  fame  rests  upon 
his  brilliant  characterization  of  famous  painters.  Here  are  Giotto, 
Botticelli,  Fra  Filippo  Lippi,  Fra  Giovanni  da  Fiesole,  Leonardo 
da  Vinci,  Perugino.  Correggio,  Raphael,  Andrea  del  Sarto, 
Michaelangelo,  and  Titian. 

These  Splendid  Rulers 

The  Golden  Ages  of  the  World.  Here  we  find  emperors,  kings, 
queens,  chieftains,  whose  reigns  were  truly  regal,  and  with  quali- 
ties which  were  infinitely  splendid.  The  stories  of  these  glorious 
figures  include  Pericles,  Augustus  Caesar,  Charlemagne,  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  Charles  V,  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, Louis  XIV,  and  Peter  the  Great. 
In  Preparation 
These  Splendid  Pirates  These  Splendid  Priests 

These  Splendid  Sailors  These  Splendid  Pioneers 

These  Splendid  Soldiers  These  Splendid  Explorers 

Other  Titles  to  Follou;. 


# 


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^/"V 


